


Take A Hint (I did)

by the_link_dock



Series: Take a Hint [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Cannibalism, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Child Abuse, Depression, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Has Feelings, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter in Love, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is a Softie, Hannibal becomes very protective of will, Hannibal is really shitty in the beginning, Hannibal views Will as precious, I don't think it's any more graphic that the show is, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Is it gorey?, It's a bit gruesome, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Mild Gore, Murder, Mylimasis, No Major Character Death Because He always comes back, Not very though, Pet Names, Poor Will, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Precious Will Graham, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Reincarnation, Sassy Will Graham, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spoiler alert: Will Dies A Lot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Will, Suicidal Will Graham, Suicide Attempt, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Mess, Will Graham is stressed, Will gets killed, Will gets reincarnated, Will is a Mess, You've seen the show, Young Will Graham, endgame is hannigram, i've been meaning to update the tags, it's in every hannigram fic, that should be a tag with this fandom, the Matthew/Will is Will getting back at Hannibal, tw: self-harm, will is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 26,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_link_dock/pseuds/the_link_dock
Summary: Soulmate AU where there first words your soulmate speaks to you appear on your skin when you're born. When you turn twenty-five, you stop aging until you meet your soulmate.Will gets tired dying.Read the TagsAdam, Aiden, and Nigel aren't going to be main characters, just lives Will lives/ sees before he moves on.
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Matthew Brown/Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Take a Hint [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186373
Comments: 264
Kudos: 801





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hannibal fic so the characters will likely be OOC, but I'm trying to make them as in character as possible. This is more of a prologue, but another chapter should be up soon!

When Will first met Hannibal, he hadn’t thought much of the other man.

Light hair that was always neatly brushed to the side. Deep set eyes that could look through anyone. High cheekbones that a princess would be jealous of. Warm brown eyes that seemed maroon in the light.

Hannibal was more often blank-faced than not.

They couldn’t be farther from opposites if they had actively tried.

Will tried to shake his mind of Hannibal. His _soulmate_.

Will snorted and wouldn’t believe they were each other’s if not for his constant reincarnation and his words always matching whatever Hannibal first said to him in each new life.

It wasn’t uncommon for people reincarnated to remember what their soulmates resembled, but it was unheard of for them to remember every past life.

Will was one of the few, if not the only.

He had first met Hannibal while on a family vacation to Paris. It was going well until it went to shit.

His first words to Hannibal had been, “Excusez-moi.” _Excuse me_.

Will he just been trying to squeeze past him in a café, but a deep voice stopped him.

“C'est toi?” _It’s you?_

Will turned to look at him with wide eyes. He knew his soulmate would speak French. It was why he took French as his foreign language (despite it being a blow off class where Will only learned the bare minimum for a conversation and a few random words), even though everyone told him Spanish would be more useful in the States. It was why his family saved up money for three years to take a vacation to France instead of buy a desperately needed new car.

Hannibal’s eyes were crinkled in amusement and Will had flushed. “Je suis Will. Qui es-tu?” _I’m Will. Who are you?_

Hannibal stepped out of line and moved until he was almost touching will. “Hannibal. Habitez-vous à proximité?” _Do you live nearby?_

Will hadn’t known that at the time. He said with a flush, “Je ne parle pas bien Français. J’habite aux États-Unis.” _I don’t speak French well. I live in the United States_.

Hannibal hummed in thought, “You do not live here.”

Will marvelled at his voice, accented but obviously not French. “Do you?” He’d asked, hoping against his inner reasonings that Hannibal might live in the U.S. as well.

Hannibal gave a small wry grin, “No, I live in Lithuania.”

Will felt himself deflate. “Oh.”

Even though they were soulmates meeting for the first time, it didn’t last much longer after that. Hannibal gave Will his number as well as the number of the hotel he was staying at, and invited him to dinner that evening.

Will foolishly, and when he re-joined his family his cheeks hurt from smiling and they congratulated him excitedly.

His mom hugged him tightly and his dad patted him on the back. It was one of the last interactions he had with them.

Everyone knew that you didn’t age until you met you’re soulmate, and if they died you would stop aging.

Will would’ve never thought Hannibal would lure him into his hotel and slit his throat before he made it to the dining room. 


	2. His Second Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first few chapters will most likely be short and fast as Will figures out that this will be a reoccurring thing.

On his second life, when he was able to read his words, he got his memories back. Will, now named Jackson, was six years old, practicing to learn how to write on overly large spaced notebook paper with letters dotted in for him to trace.

He scratched at his wrist absentmindedly and realised he could read his words!

His parents were traditionalists, covering up his words immediately after he was born. They were meant for him and who he chose to share it with, once he could learn how to read them.

He took a few minutes sounding it out. “Wuh-ee, we, muh-ee-ee-tuh, mee-tuh- _meet_! Ah-guh-ah-ih, nn. Ahg-ah-ihn. Ahgahin? _Again!_ We meet again-”

Before he could say anything else, his head exploded with pain from the onslaught of memories. He squeezed his head and screamed and kept screaming when his mom ran into the room to find him shaking.

“Jackson, baby, what’s wrong?!”

His mother-not-his-mother-was frantically checking his head for injuries and Will looked at her through blurry eyes.

“He’s a bad man.” Will said, lips jutted out and still squeezing at his hair as if it would take away from the ache in his brain.

“Who is, sweetie?” His mother-not-mother-asked, calming down a bit after Will had stopped yelling.

Will jerked his arm out in front of him and showed her his wrist with his words. “He’s a bad man. I remember.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, and told him to stay there while she called Jack, his dad-not his dad, to come home.

She hugged him to her chest and held in her own tears at the sight of her son’s.

When Jack got home, he saw his wife, Mary, gently shushing their son as he had a panic attack.

Will looked at his dad-not-dad-through eyes that had grown older.

Jack kneeled in front of the couch where the two rested and placed his hand on Will’s knee, asking gently, “What happened, Jackie?”

Wil shook his head and tried not to cry again. He wasn’t Jackson or Jackie or Jack-A-Roo. He was William Johnson, a kid who went missing almost seven years ago in Paris after meeting his soulmate.

“He killed me.” Will whispered.

“Who did?” His dad-not-dad’s voice sounded desperate and Will was happy they didn’t automatically think he was crazy.

“Ha-”

He cut himself off with a sob. He couldn’t bring himself to say His name.

Instead, he did the same with his mom-not-mom. He showed his dad-not-dad his wrist.

“He invited me to his hotel room,” Will whispered. “I didn’t even hear the door shut when-”

He grabbed at his throat as if it had just happened. He looked at his dad-not-dad and tried not to cry, _again_.

“Don’t let him take me. Don’t let him find me, I can’t let him find me. Please.”

Jack’s heart broke while his mind fought itself. His son was clearly in so much pain, but what if it was just a bad dream? He’d certainly never heard of people remembering much of their past lives, if any. He himself vaguely remembered he had lived in California before a wreck killed him and he was reincarnated in Missouri.

He couldn’t even remember he first life’s name.

“We won’t, honey.” Mary reassured.

She squeezed him tighter, and he appreciated it. He felt like no harm would every come to him in that moment; his mom-not-mom behind him and his dad-not-dad in front.

It didn’t last long.

He was shushed to sleep, and the next day his parents-not-his-parents-acted completely normal.

Will didn’t know what to do with himself. He remembered what he was like before reading his words, but couldn’t bring himself to act carefree when the weight of the world settled itself on his shoulders.

He didn’t get out of bed for breakfast. Or at all. His mom-not-mom brought in homemade chicken noodle soup, but Will couldn’t stomach it. His dad tried to get him up and into the living room for a change in scenery but Will just shook his head and curled in on himself.

They told him they wanted to take him to a feelings doctor. He tried not to scowl. “Just say therapist.”

He rolled away from them at their surprised faces. He should’ve known they wouldn’t believe a six-year-old.

Several weeks were spent in a similar manner; Will hardly getting out of bad, not matter how loud his parents-not-parents yelled or how soft they coaxed. His mom-not-mom was a stay at home anyways, but now she had taken to sitting in the corner of his room.

His dad had to pick him up and take him to a psychiatrist after almost two months of no improvement.

Dr. Smith was okay. He clearly didn’t believe Will about remembering the entirety of his past life. He thought Will saw it on the T.V. Will didn’t bother correcting him.

Because he was so young, Dr. Smith couldn’t prescribe him anti-depressants, even though it was what he clearly needed.

Instead, he got weekly appointments with the shitty doctor.

At some point, he stopped waiting for his dad to physically drag him there and got ready on his own. They saw it as improvement, but really, he just didn’t want anyone to touch him anymore.

Will was lying in bed and Mary was in the chair in the corner when he spoke to her.

“Ever since the _incident_ ,” as they’ve taken to calling it, “I think of you as my mom-not-mom.”

She looked at him with confusion and hurt, but stayed quiet so he would continue. He looked at her shirt so he wouldn’t have to see her face. “I was seventeen when I died. I remember my old mom perfectly but, I still think of you as my mom. I don’t want to replace her, but,” he started trembling, “you’re my mom. It just feels wrong to ignore who she was.”

She got up and laid on his bed next to him, letting him curl against her and petting his head, “Do you want us to find her.”

Will started crying and shook his head harshly, “No! I want her to forget me and move on.”

Mary didn’t say anything, but Will could feel she was relieved he didn’t want to track down a woman they weren’t entirely convinced was real.

He pretended that didn’t make him cry harder.

Will was sixteen and things were…okay. He was still depressed and sad most of the time. His parents had accepted that he was “mature” for his age and that he would never be who he was before the _incident_. His mom called him Will at home but Jackson in public. His dad exclusively called him Jackie or Jackson.

He stayed at home almost all of the time; he opted for home-schooling and his dad didn’t fight much on it. He’d only just started calling them mom and dad again.

So, of course that would be when things go wrong.

Will started driving to his therapy sessions when he turned sixteen. His dad let him take the truck and he loved the time alone more than anything in the world.

Sometimes he rolled the windows down and listened to it rush by; sometimes he kept them up and ranted to himself or screamed out his frustrations.

It was the only space he felt safe enough to talk out loud and be himself fully.

Will went to his session as usual. Nothing new or interesting on either of their parts. Smith would be retiring soon, not that he told Will.

On his way out of the building, he kept his head down and put his hands in his pockets to give them something to do.

He nearly ran into a man and murmured, “Excuse me,” as he side-stepped and proceeded outside.

A hand caught his arm and he tried to jerk away, only to be held tighter.

He looked up and felt his stomach sink at the warm brown eyes.

“We meet again.”

Will felt like a six-year-old all over again.

“No, no, no, please, no.” His voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes welled with tears and his breathing picked up.

“I see you remember me, but not to worry. It won’t be for long.”

Will didn’t put up much of a fight as he was dragged to an expensive car and tossed in the back seat. The child locks were already on and there was no way he would climb over the front seat to try and get out.

He curled up against the car door and held his knees to his chest. “Can I cuh-call my muh-mom?” He asked pitifully, feeling his face already get blotchy and red.

Hannibal gave a falsely apologetic smile, “Not right now.” Not ever.

Will cried throughout the drive to Hannibal’s rented house.

“Why do you do this?” Will rushed out between gasping breaths after Hannibal dragged him inside.

His only response was a knowing smile before Will’s neck was snapped.


	3. Third Time's The Charm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise these will get longer as time prodresses

Will’s third life was much like his second. Good until it wasn’t. He had known his words before he had read them, but as soon as he could read them his memories came flooding back.

He had still screamed, but when his mom-not-mom rushed in, he just said his head hurt. She gave him some kid-version of Asprin and that was the end of it.

_Maybe next time_ , would be what Hannibal says to him, when they met again.

Will tried not to cringed when his parents-not-parents called him Andy after his remembering. He tried to be the sunny kid in California that he had been before. He tried to enjoy the beach and being outside as much as Andy would’ve.

He tried not to let it show, but he felt more disconnected with these parents-not-parents then last time. These ones wanted him to surf like his dad-not-dad, but he just wanted to read about ocean life.

He was almost thankful he didn’t have to remember as long as last time.

He saw Hannibal for the first time when he was seven. Will noticed him before the older man saw him and was content to watch his soulmate before he inevitably killed him.

Will was in the park with a babysitter, sitting under a tree while she made out with her boyfriend on a park bench.

Hannibal was a little-ways away, at some sort of out side dining area.

Will had a feeling Hannibal would recognise him, even if Will didn’t say anything. Will had noticed that he had looked the same on each life; curly dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin that tanned easy.

Will went over to his babysitter, Becca.

He stood there awkwardly until the boyfriend noticed, and nudged her with a small smile. Tim was nice to Will, so Will smiled shyly back.

“How’s it goin’, bud?”

Will gave an uncomfortable smile instead of verbally answering Tim’s question. “Um, Becca? I’m-uh-gonna go to the bathroom, okay?”

She looked at him and nodded slowly, “O-kay?”

He fiddled with his hands and didn’t look at her as he whispered, “It’s not your fault.”

She gave a nervous laugh and nodded, “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at the two of them and tried to memorise their faces, “I mean it.”

He walked away after Tim ruffled his hair with a roguish grin, and when Will looked back the two were already kissing again.

His stomach coiled jealously that they could have that and he was stuck with a soulmate that killed him.

He sat back under the tree and when he looked back to where he last saw Hannibal, the two made eye contact.

Will couldn’t stop the shaking, but he did try.

Hannibal nodded for him to come over, and Will didn’t see the point in avoiding it.

Hannibal was sitting at a table on the other side of the park ledge.

The two sat in silence for almost thirty minutes. Will was focused on keeping calm and hoping that it would be over soon and Hannibal was content with drawing in his notebook.

“Can I see?” Will asked, after a long, heavy silence.

Hannibal looked at him with sharp eyes and closed the book before Will could sneak a peek. “Maybe next time.”

Will couldn’t help but snort. Hannibal raised an eyebrow in question.

Will showed him his wrist, “Not really the context I had in mind.”

Hannibal’s lips quirked into a smile before straightening out as he stood up. “Come, Will.”

Will started shaking again but followed, nonetheless.

He didn’t like being Andy, anyway.


	4. My Turn (TW: self-harm and death)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!  
> I don't know if it's detailed or graphic but there is specific mention of self-harm and suicide at the end of the chapter. Proceed at your own caution; you can skip this chapter without losing much other than the beginning of Will's downward spiral.

Realising your life was inevitably end in murder didn’t get _easier_.

By reincarnation seven, Will had gotten used to his parents-not-parents and started seeing them more as roommates than parents.

It infuriated his new dad-not-dad to no end.

“I am your father, Simon. I will be treated with respect!” Mark was a politician and was arrogant about everything. In his eyes, he was never to blame.

Will constantly saw him as the problem.

Mark was currently yelling at Will for not calling him “dad,” or something along that line. It could’ve been about Will reading his book about bugs and not paying attention.

“My name is Will.” His dad-not-dad turned red in the face with anger and Will felt a spike of fear.

“That’s it!” Mark yelled, ripping Will’s book out of his hands. “You are thirteen young man, it’s time for this nonsense to stop! Your name is _Simon!_ Simon Walters, and I am sick of this attitude and disrespect!”

Will held in an eyeroll. He hadn’t told his parents-not-parents about his soulmate since his second life.

“Whatever.” Will mumbled, leaning back against the dining room chair he was sitting in.

The Walters were probably the richest family Will had been born into. Their house was huge and their dining room was bigger than his fifth life’s house.

Will couldn’t remember much about his fifth life. He’d died young from some genetic disease before Hannibal even knew he was alive. It was before he’d read his words, Will didn’t even know what they’d been.

His dad-not-dad hitting him shook him out of his thoughts.

Will held his cheek with wide eyes and stared at the ground for a minute.

It hurt, his cheek stung then ached and he felt it grow hot.

Will looked at his father-not-father and saw an equally shocked face.

“I-I didn’t…If you had just listened,” Mark trailed off gently and Will felt an anger in his chest.

He shoved his chair back and when Joe stood in front of him to try and block his exit, Will kicked him in the balls yelling, “Go to hell!” over his shoulder.

His mom-not-mom was nice but absent. She liked to drink during the day and go out with friends more often than staying at home.

Will ran to his room and grabbed his backpack, dumping out all of his school supplies, not caring where they landed.

He packed three pairs of boxers, seven socks (not seven pairs; three pairs and a half because he didn’t have time to find the other one), three t-shirts that were thin and didn’t take much space and an extra pair of jeans.

_Fuck this_.

He looked around the room for anything he might need and took longer than necessary to look at his book shelf.

It was small, but it was stacked full and it hurt Will to leave them behind. Instead, he went to his book about scorpions, and opened it to find it hollowed with cash from birthdays and Christmas.

Will hadn’t been _planning_ on running away, but his dad seemed likely to throw him out so he stayed prepared.

His dad wasn’t in the dining room when he went back down stairs, so Will ran outside and didn’t stop until he was past their neighbourhood gates and out of the upper-class part of town.

Will was thankful he hadn’t let his father dictate how he looked; he would’ve been mugged within minutes of reaching the lower part of town.

As it were, Will had kept his curly hair longer, letting the back just barely reach his shoulders with the sides curled over his ears and his eyes could hide behind his bangs.

His jeans were old, worn, and ratty. His shirt was one he’d been wearing for almost three days now and he was glad he’d been wearing a jacket.

It wasn’t warm but he was able to pull his hood up and bow his head and not draw attention to himself.

He was homeless for two months before the police found him.

He’d made a home of sorts under a highway bridge and got a cheap gym membership so he could shower.

He kept to himself; made distant acquaintances with regulars at the Laundromat and the gym. A lot of the older women would politely greet him, ask about his day, then they’d go about their business. Some of the guys would give a head nod, and Will found that he liked it there.

It’d be nice to have a house or apartment, but he was content with getting fast food for dinner and feeding stray dogs when they wandered by.

He lived with over fifteen dogs piling around him, and he was happy.

Fuck the police.

The found him leaving the library and asked if he was Simon Walters. His feet were running before they finished their question.

The chase didn’t last long. He never used the treadmills at the gym, and they had a car.

He was in the back of the police car before he made it to his bridge, and prayed no one hurt the dogs.

His mother-not-mother played the concerned parent well. She cried and hugged him and held his face while she kissed his forehead. She fussed about how thin he was and his dad-not-dad stood to the side, stern but relieved.

They drove home in silence.

When they pulled into the driveway, Will’s mom-not-mom got out, but Mark stayed behind and locked the doors before he could get out.

“Do you know how bad you made me look?! How can I run for office if I can’t keep my own damn family together! If you ever pull that shit again, I’ll make sure they never find you.”

Will snorted. _Wouldn’t be the first time_.

He nodded with a sigh and went upstairs.

He looked around his room and flopped on his bed.

He wasn’t happy here. He rarely was, but this life was especially bad.

His dad-not-dad would “knock him around” and his mom would look away and drink white wine.

They didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here.

He looked at his wrist. And traced the words with a heavy sigh.

He didn’t want to wait for Hannibal to kill him. He wanted to get it over with.

So, that night, less than a month after being brought “home”, Will went to Mark’s bathroom and grabbed all the pill bottles and went back to his room.

His parents-not-parents were at some political party. They wouldn’t be home in time he knew they wouldn’t.

He grinned widely and for the first time felt a happy feeling in his chest. It was vindictive.

He swallowed over thirty pills. He got tired of counting. He stumbled through the hallways to get more water, but ended up falling down the stairs.

He dragged himself up and let out a whine as his stomach clenched.

He almost fell into the kitchen and braced himself on the counter as he tried to steady himself.

He cried out loudly when his stomach squeezed in pain. He leaned his head against the counter to cool himself off, and when his looked up he saw the kitchen knife block in front of him.

His eyes burned and he knew he was crying.

He sobbed as he grabbed a knife, the smallest one there. He sank to the floor and tried to stay upright when he sat down.

He didn’t try to keep quiet as he cried. He wasn’t sad, but he didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

He took shallow breaths as he stared at his words. The he cut.

He cut fast and hard, all over his fore arm until he couldn’t see clean skin.

It added to the pain. He watched through hazy eyes in fascination as blood dripped on his pants.

He tried to switch hands and hack his other arm, but it hurt too much to hold onto it.

He leaned his head back and started convulsing. What happened next was hazy, but he was right about his parents-not-parents.

They hadn’t made it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is not killing Will to stop aging. It's not an age or immortality thing, it will be explained later but I wanted to get it out there that Hannibal doesn't care about staying young or living forever.


	5. It Gets Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna pretend like there's not a plot hold of the time period. In this chapter, it's more like the sixties, but in the first chapter I thought of it being 2014. I might change that later because this is meant to be linear. Oh well.

Reincarnation 10 was just _odd_. His not-mom worked three jobs during the week and an extra on the weekends. His not-dad worked one job, but since it was a desk job, no one complained.

Will had been able to read his words when he was five, and it had been a stressful night for his brothers.

That was another thing. Will had never had siblings before, which seemed odd when he thought about it. Until Reincarnation 10 (R-10, he called it), he’d come from “normal” families.

R-10 was a whole different experience.

His name was Tommy and he had three older brothers. David was the oldest. He had brown, curly hair like Will’s, but green eyes like their dad. Peter was the second oldest and his hair didn’t curl as much as Will’s and David’s, but they all shared the same nose. Clark resembled Will the most. He had the same blue eyes and full lips.

Their dad, Will’s not-dad, was out drinking and their mom-not-mom was working again.

David was teaching Will to reach, and decided to practice with his soul mark.

Will sounded out the words until he could read them clearly. _What a surprise_.

Will sucked in a breath as the memories flooded back in.

It never did get easier.

It felt like his head was being split open. He cried to himself without noticing, nor did he realise David had called the other two into their shared bedroom.

Will hugged himself and shuddered trying to gasp for breath.

Someone moved his hand and placed it on a thin chest that was breathing deeply in and out. Will mimicked the movements and jerked his eyes up to see Peter there, calming him down.

Will couldn’t bring himself to stare for longer, even though he wanted to remember this moment.

“What happened, T?” David asked gently, once Will had regulated his breathing.

Will glanced at him and dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Something-” he cut himself off and grimaced. “Something happened, but I don’t think I can tell you.”

“Why not?” Clark asked. Clark was seven, and was more curious that upset.

Will shook his head and took in a deep breath to keep from panicking again.

David rearranged himself so he was sitting behind Will with his legs on either side of the boy. He grabbed Will carefully and sat the boy in-between his legs, tightening his arms around his little brother.

David made Peter take Clark somewhere else.

“Tommy, I know this might be scary. But you gotta tell me if someone’s been lookin’ atcha. Has someone been,” David winced and started over. “If someone’s been touchin’ you inap-if someone’s been touchin’ your private parts, you gotta let me know. _Has_ someone been touching you? Down there?”

Will couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t loud, or how he laughed before he remembered. It was more of a giggle.

“I’m not being molested, David?” Will said with a sigh, leaning his head back against his-brother?-brother’s chest.

“How do you know that word?” David asked carefully.

“It’s part of the thing I can’t tell you about. But no one’s touching me. Like that, anyway.”

Will liked having brothers. Until they stopped liking him.

David moved out when he was nineteen, which made Peter “in-charge” when the not-parents were gone. Peter had become less of a doting big brother and more of a dick wad. He made fun of Will for reading and he shoved Will around a lot.

Clark didn’t like to have his kid brother around, and if he was told to watch Will, he’d usually send Will out on a wild goose-chase that made Will feel like an idiot for falling for it everything.

When David turned 23, he met Martha, his soulmate. David didn’t stop liking him, but he moved out and had kids of his own. He never called or wrote; Will barely saw him on holidays.

Will covered up his soul mark and lived a decent, if a bit shitty, life.

He went to an actual school.

He got a real job at a diner and kept it.

He had problems.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was one, if his self-diagnosis was correct. He couldn’t go to certain places because it reminded him of Hannibal.

He didn’t like therapists or psychiatrists, hence the self-diagnosis.

He never went to the park by himself, and if he had to go, he made sure someone stayed with him at all times.

He never went to anyone’s house for any reason unless his not-parents or siblings were going.

When he saw a certain shade of blonde hair or heard a specific accent, he spiralled into a panic attack.

His not-mom tried to understand what he was going through, but she wasn’t around enough.

His not-dad probably didn’t know there was anything wrong.

Will turned twenty, and was honestly surprised he’d lived so long. He’d never made it past his teens. David had moved far away when Will was fifteen; he couldn’t make it home. Peter had met his soulmate less than a month ago, and was not going to waste time at Will’s shitty birthday party, thank-you-very-much. Clark would probably drop by his apartment, if he wasn’t wasted.

His not-mom died a year and a half ago and his not-dad was probably on a bender with Clark.

Will spent his day alone in his apartment until his shift started at the diner.

It was a local place; the kind where you learned who the regulars were quick.

Will worked for four hours before he had his break. He ordered a basket of fries and looked around the restaurant, taking in the almost empty shop.

It was nearing one in the morning, so he wasn’t too surprised.

His stomach dropped when he saw a familiar face, but not a regular, sitting down in a secluded corner.

Will sighed and grabbed his fries when they were ready.

He sat across from Hannibal with a huff.

Hannibal looked up at him and gave a smile, “What a surprise. Hello, Will.”

Will nodded and started eating. “What are you doing in Chicago?”

Hannibal had a notebook in front of him, but like at the park, he didn’t let Will read it.

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Will chewed his lip and looked to the side. “I get off at six.”

Hannibal frowned, “A.M.?”

Will nodded and rubbed his face, “Yeah. Shitty ending for a shitty day.”

Hannibal’s frown deepened and Will snorted, “I figured you’d wanna know. Maybe do some creepy stalking before you k-”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and Will swallowed, not finishing that thought.

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled but his face remained impassive, “You should be getting eight hours of sleep. How will you concentrate on your studies?”

Will actually laughed, and pushed his half-full basket of fries away, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t go to school, Hannibal. I can’t afford to and I don’t have the time.”

“Your parents are okay with this?”

Will gave a wry grin, “Not-mom died over a year ago and not-dad is,” he bit his lip, “MIA.”

“War?” Hannibal asked, leaning a bit forward.

Will snorted and closed his eyes lazily and shook his head, “Drinking.”

Hannibal frowned and Will looked at the table.

“You call them your not-mom and dad?” Hannibal asked after a minute of silence.

Will flicked his gaze up to Hannibal’s face but quickly looked down. “Yeah, I-uh,” he coughed and leaning in more, “I don’t see them as my parents. Haven’t really since R-2.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow in question and Will gave a cocky grin, “Maybe next time I’ll tell you.”

Hannibal snorted and Will tried not to let his mouth drop open.

It wasn’t how he thought his birthday would go, but at least Hannibal stayed until the end of his shift.

The next morning was horrible.

Hannibal injected him with some drug that made his limps feel heavy and his brain slow.

Hannibal cut Will's heart out while Will watched him with tears in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Hannibal. When someone gives you advice to steal their hearts, this isn't what they meant.


	6. Til Death Do Us F*cking Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has Nigel from Charlie Countryman in place of Hannibal, but he will be back to normal in the next chapter.

On R-18, Will killed _Hannibal_. It was a one-time thing for Will. He could barely get out of bed during the following weeks, knowing he had killed someone. Not that Hannibal didn’t deserve it, he certainly did. Still, Will didn’t like blood on his hands.

He left the States and travelled Europe. He ended up in Bucharest, Romania and got a job at an opera house.

Will was sort of the custodian of the place. He cleaned the opera house and made sure no one was left in the building when he locked up. He found it surprisingly enjoyable and figured he could live here forever.

_Of fucking course that didn’t last_.

Three months into this life, he met his soulmate. _Again_.

He walked through the halls, warning the straggling workers that he was about to close up and checked the dressing rooms for any last performers. He heard voices as he drew near.

“No, Charlie. Not fucking was. Fucking is. Fucking meaning, I currently fucking am til death do us fucking part.”

Will rounded the corner and saw the owner’s daughter, Gabi, along with a taller man in a suit and a skinny guy sitting in a chair by them, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Gabi looked at him and looked back at the man. The man turned around and Will groaned.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The skinny guy looked at Will with wide eyes and Gabi was already trying to calm Nigel down. “Nigel, he’s just a worker, he doesn’t-”

Will cut her off with a snort, “ _Nigel?_ ”

Nigel furrowed his eyebrows. “This is not how I thought this would go.” Those were Will’s words. They changed when Hannibal died.

Will snorted and leaned against the doorway, looking between Gabi and _Nigel_. “Til death do you fuckin’ part, huh? So, you’re married?”

_Nigel_ grimaced but nodded. Will’s shoulder sagged and he looked over Hannibal’s shoulder. “Sucks for you.”

Gabi gasped and the skinny guy gaped.

_Nigel_ hid a smirk with a heavy sigh and leaned his head back, showing will a tattoo on his neck. “I can’t let you talk to me like that, gorgeous.”

Will shrugged his shoulders and ignored the heat in his cheeks, “Are you gonna kill me?” _Wouldn’t be the first time_.

_Nigel_ pursed his lips.

“D’you to know each other?” The skinny guy asked, earning a death glare from Hannibal.

Will glanced at Hannibal, “I don’t think so.”

_Nigel_ was quiet and before he could say anything Bela came in and yelled at Nigel to get lost.

The blonde man brushed past Will on his way out, not sparing against the others in the hall.

Bela was about his business, and Gabi and the skinny guy stared at him.

Will scratched his forehead with his thumb, “I’m closing soon, so you guys need to leave.”

Gabi stalked towards him, “What the hell?!”

Will hummed in question.

“Nigel will blow your brains out,” she warned, looking in his eyes.

_He already has_.

Will’s expressionless face didn’t change, “I’m not worried.”

She shook her head and told the skinny guy, Charlie, to leave with her.

When Will had finally locked up, he started walking to his apartment. He wasn’t surprised when _Nigel_ joined him.

Will was surprised that he was smoking.

“So, what, you’re some king of gangster?”

_Nigel_ blew out smoke and snorted. “We have fucking met before. I know your face.”

Will couldn’t hold back a laugh. _Of course, he didn’t fucking remember. No one did_.

“I’m not a good fucking man.” _Nigel_ warned.

Will put his hands in his pockets, “I know.”

“You fucking know?” _Nigel_ asked, looking more dangerous than a minute ago. He rested a hand on his waistband, and Will knew there was a gun there. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Will.” Will had to stop himself from saying the wrong name, the one everyone else called him. “Nigel- _fucking_ _Nigel_ -look. You don’t remember your past life, but I do. If you wanna part ways, go be with Gabi, that is perfectly fine with me. I’ll go to Budapest or something.”

_Nigel_ frowned. “I fucking did something to you, didn’t I.”

Will snorted with a wry grin. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Nigel’s frown didn’t lessen. “Will you tell me.”

Will shrugged. “I haven’t told anyone since R-2.”

“What the fuck is a fucking R-fucking-2?”

Will raised his eyebrows, “Jesus, you swear a lot.”

Nigel to a drag of his cigarette, “So, fucking what? Does it fucking bother you?”

Will’s lips quirked upwards, “No. I find it funny. You didn’t like swearing before. Yourself or people around you.”

Nigel blinked at him, “Fucking what? Tell me about fucking R-2, gorgeous.”

Will walked up the stairs to his apartment and paused with his hand on the know, “It’d be best to start with R-1.”

Will didn’t see the harm in telling Nigel everything. Nigel wasn’t Hannibal and if he died, he wouldn’t remember anyways.

Will waited until they made it to his second-floor apartment and locked the door behind him.

Nigel sat on Will’s armchair and Will sat in front of him on the couch.

“We first met in France. Paris, specifically. I was on vacation with my,” Will’s voice stopped working and he felt his head hurt with the desire to cry.

Will put his head in shaky hands, “Sorry, I thought I was over this.”

“Did someone fucking hurt you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

Will gave a small hysterical laugh and tilted his head up just enough so he could see Nigel’s angry face. “You did.”

Nigel’s expression melted into one of confusion.

“We met at a café. You invited me to your room.”

Nigel interrupted him, “Did I fucking touch you?!”

Will huffed, “Why does everyone think you molested me? Jesus, no Han- _Nigel_.”

It was bizarre explaining to Will’s soulmate that he was Will’s killer when he didn’t even remember it.

“You slit my throat instead.”

Nigel’s eyes widened. “ _I_ killed you?”

Will let his arms rest on his knees as he bent forward. “More than once. On R-2, you snapped my neck. R-3, you strangled me. R-4 was a bullet in the heart. R-5 wasn’t because of you, some disease when I was a baby. R-6 you stabbed my in the neck. R-7 I killed myself before we met. R-8,” he paused as looked at Nigel to see the Romanian looking at the wall with a clenched jaw.

“Are you sure you want to hear this? It gets worse.”

Nigel looked at him sharply, but gave a single nod.

Will blew out a sigh, “You stabbed me in the eye, took an axe to my chest, cut my heart out, suffocated me, cut out my stomach, cut out my lungs, and from then on I killed myself if I saw you. Except for this time, R-18. I killed you before you could do anything to me.”

It was quiet for a long time. “So,” Nigel cleared his throat and sat up straighter, “these, ‘R’s, they’re-”

“They’re my reincarnations. I remember everything.”

Nigel pulled out a new cigarette and Will didn’t stop him from lighting up.

“What name did you want to call me?”

Will looked at him with a sly smile, “Are you sure you want to know? It’s your old name.”

Nigel held his cigarette out to the side and gave a single nod. “You were called Hannibal.”

Nigel curled his lip and took another drag. “Fucking stupid name.”

Will laughed and covered his mouth to muffle the noise and hide his smile.

Nigel gave him a grin of his own, but he sobered up quickly. “What do you want to do?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “What do _I_ want to do?”

Nigel curled his lip, “Yes, what the fuck do you fucking want to fucking do.”

Will looked around the room, “It’s almost three a.m. so I was going to sleep, but-”

Nigel cut hm off with a growl, “Do you fucking want to kill me?”

Will looked him up and down. “Nah.”

Nigel took a drag from his cigarette and gave Will a funny look. “You’re fucking strange, gorgeous.”

Will felt his cheeks flush and saw Nigel looked pleased with himself. “Why do you call me that?”

“What, gorgeous?”

Will growled and hunched his shoulders when it made Nigel’s smile grow wider. “ _That_ , you fucker. _Gorgeous_.”

Nigel shrugged and took another drag, “I just call it like I see it.”

Will didn’t have anything to say to that, so he looked away.

Nigel was very protective, which was actually nice. He picked Will up from work and drove him to his apartment. Will found himself liking Nigel.

They didn’t talk about Nigel’s work unless Nigel brought it up, and Will was okay with that.

He was okay with it because his _soulmate_ was nice to him.

_Those are some low standards_.

When Will found out Nigel was still going around saying Gabi was his, and threatening Charlie, it hurt more than dying.

Will was used to being physically hurt. But when he saw Nigel threaten Charlie and nearly kill him, it made his chest hurt. He watched from his apartment window when Gabi left Charlie in the street and rode off with Hannibal. _Nigel_. They were the same, in the end.

Will showed up when Charlie was hanging by his foot, bloodied and beaten.

“You never fucking change.” Will said, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction when Nigel glared at him.

“I fucking didn’t touch you.”

Will shook his head and looked at Gabi, “No. You fucking touched _her_.”

Nigel snarled and pulled his gun on Will.

Gabi took a step back but will didn’t blink.

Will and Nigel stared at each other for a while. Nigel handed Gabi the gun and she walked towards Charlie and shot him in the stomach. Or so it looked.

Nigel smiled at her, “Good job, gorgeous.”

Will’s chest heaved. “You fucking asshole.”

Will pulled his own gun out from his waistband. He’d had it when he realised Nigel was going to stick around.

Will put the barrel under his chin and watched as Nigel reached his arm out to stop him.

Will pulled the trigger before the Romanian could get close enough to stop him.

He was dead when he hit the ground. He didn’t see the henchmen drop the rope that held Charlie up. He didn’t see Gabi scream, or hear Charlie hit the water.

He didn’t see Nigel through his open lifeless eyes as the Romanian pulled him into his lap.

He didn’t feel Nigel rock him, or being set back down on the ground.

He didn’t see Nigel pull a fake gun on the police, or see Nigel get shot in the head, or see Nigel fall dead next to him.

Maybe if he had, Will could explain how everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think?


	7. Ms. B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional (obviously, I'm writing Hannibal fanfiction). All diagnosis and disorders I write about are what I've learned from minimal research and very superficial knowledge. I don't claim to be an expert or a spokesperson for these disorders and if I get facts wrong, it's because I have no real, personal/in-depth experience with these topics and I'm not pretending too. I apologize if anything is over-exaggerated or just flat out wrong.
> 
> If you notice something that is inaccurate, feel free to let me know in the comments, I just ask that you are nice/respectful about it. Thank you.

When Will remembered on R-19, he was pleasantly surprised to find his name was Will. Will Graham.

He was in Louisiana, raised by a not-dad but no mother.

She walked out when Will was a few months old, and his not-dad took to drinking.

His not-dad and not-mom weren’t soulmates, but they’d been in love since they were teens. Shortly after Will was born, his not-mom found her soulmate and left with only a note saying she wasn’t coming back.

Will read his words at six-and-a-half.

_Do you have trouble with taste?_

As soon as he remembered, and the headache stopped, Will mused about what he could’ve said to make Hannibal say that.

Maybe Will would luck out in this life and Hannibal would be a chef at a restaurant and actually be normal.

A part of Will knew he would never be able to cope with a normal soulmate after going through so much shit in his past reincarnations.

It was nice to fantasize about. Hannibal was a, for lack of better word, _gorgeous_ man.

His wide smile, his soft eyes, and his high cheek bones. Will thought about them constantly, imagining different scenarios where Hannibal would smirk at him and say something that would make Will blush.

The thoughts he had about Hannibal were not what a normal six-year-old should be having, but it was hardly his fault that he could remember being a teenager.

He tried to focus on other things.

Like how his dad thought he was autistic.

When he went to get tested, doctors said he had Williams Syndrome. That meant he was highly empathetic and would probably have some difficulties learning new things.

Will counted himself lucky that he could remember his past reincarnations because sometimes he was so focused on how much time was left in class, he couldn’t hear what was being taught in class. He would add up the minute of class and divide them into thirty second intervals.

Forty-five minutes left in class was 90 thirty-seconds. Somehow it made the time go by faster.

Will struggled with making friends because they thought he was reading their minds.

Despite being on R-19 and used to being an adult mind in a kid’s body, he struggled with filtering his words during his earlier school years.

His teacher came to class one day with a runny nose and when Will looked her in her red eyes, he saw her getting a phone call about her parents getting in a car wreck and not surviving.

She did not appreciate him saying, “I don’t have a mom either, but not because she died.”

That got him sent to counselling. Again.

Will didn’t like counselling and told Ms. Bedelia Du Maurier “Ms. Bedelia is fine” just as much.

“Will, how do you know if you’ve never given it a try?”

Just to spite her, he looked into her eyes with a glare, “You’re a closeted alcoholic with a penchant for wine, particularly red, and you live alone in a high-end apartment. It’s by choice but you’re unhappy there because you’re only boyfriend left you for his soulmate and now you resent the idea of yours on the off chance, they do that to someone else. That’s why you wear expensive jewellery. You hide that you’re covering your words, and you’re covering them so you’ll forget them but I doubt that you’ll ever be able to.”

She looked at him with her eyebrows raised and she didn’t move for a while.

Will squeezed the armrests of his chair and leaned back against the cushioning.

After minutes of her staring at him and Will looking anywhere _but_ her, she spoke. “How did you know all of that?”

Will shrugged, “I saw it. I thought they would’ve told you.”

Ms. Bedelia crossed her legs, “Who?”

Will snorted and looked at the ground, “No one, now that I think about it. My n-”

Will snapped his mouth shut and grimaced. He’d almost called his dad his not-dad.

“Will?”

He clanked up at her, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on her gold necklace. “Yeah?”

She gave a small smirk, “You spaced out there for a minute.”

He grimaced again with a hum, “I do that a lot.”

She waited for him to continue, but when he kept his eyes locked on her necklace she sighed, “Is there something I need to know?”

His eyes flickered up to her forehead to try and gauge her expression without seeing to much. “Uh, yeah. I have Williams Syndrome? It means I have a higher level of empathy.”

She nodded and leaned forward with her elbow on the knee and her chin resting delicately in her hand. “Of course. That would explain your size as well.”

Will flushed and turned his head. It was embarrassing to be smaller than all the other kids in his class, he was often teased about it and called “girly.”

Kids were so unoriginal.

“And my anxiety,” Will muttered.

It had been surprisingly easy to pass off his trauma as anxiety as part of W.S.

Ms. Bedelia leaned back in her chair, “Will, I think it would be best if we had weekly sessions. It would be healthy for you to find an outlet for your thoughts.”

Will rolled his eyes, “And you think that will be you?”

She smiled like a well-mannered shark, “I can think of no one better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on Ms. Bedelia?
> 
> Trust me, I've got a plan for all of this


	8. Therapy Session

Will continued to see Ms. Bedelia throughout elementary school and into high school.

Her office had changed very little throughout the years; maybe a new potted plant or some type of knick-knack added to her desk. Mostly, new books were added to her library.

Will sat side ways in the arm chair and fiddled with his fingers.

Surprisingly, Ms. Bedelia’s office had become a safe space for him. No matter what he said, she never looked at him with disgust or treated him like he was crazy. Even when he slipped up and called his father his not-dad.

It was when Will was in fifth grade. Will had gotten so comfortable over the years of being under Bedelia’s care, he forgot himself.

“It just frustrates me that my not-dad thinks he can tell me one thing while doing the opposite! He tells me to clean my room-which isn’t even dirty-but his room is practically filled with beer bottles and cans!”

Will hadn’t even realised he’d said it until Ms. Bedelia asked.

“You call your father your ‘not-dad’? Why is that?”

Will curled in on himself and shrugged.

“Is it because you think he isn’t your real father?”

Will gave a small snort, “I’m from his sperm, if that’s what you mean.”

Bedelia grimaced but didn’t comment on Will’s crudeness and folded her hands on her lap, “Is it because he doesn’t act like a father?”

Will shrugged, “Yeah, I guess so.”

That was a much easier explanation.

She gave him a smile that said she knew he was lying, but she didn’t push the subject. And when Will called his father his “not-dad,” Bedelia gave a private smile but didn’t interrupt.

Will found himself relieved that he wouldn’t have to censor himself so much.

He told her a lot after that. More than he’d told his past therapists but less than what he’d told Nigel.

Which was why, as he sat on her chair improperly, he wiggled his feet and brought up something that had been troubling him since his sophomore year of high school.

“I,” he stopped himself and grimaced. Ms. Bedelia waited patiently, as she always did. “I have a kind of problem, but I also don’t know if it’s a problem.”

She nodded for him to continue and he looked at his hands and picked at his thumb nail.

“A lot of people are dating now, much more than they did in the past. People are okay with dating for… _practice_ , I guess.”

Ms. Bedelia gave a contemplative frown, “And you’re worried if you join in your soulmate will be jealous?”

Will huffed, “Don’t say it like that, it sounds like an orgy.” Will tilted his head up with a sigh and visibly deflated, “I know they won’t be _happy_ about it.”

Will had alluded to the idea that he had met his soulmate to Bedelia many times before, but it was glaringly obvious Will wasn’t going to give details.

“Maybe they won’t be overjoyed at the idea of you being with someone else, but I’m sure they just want what will make you happy.”

Will growled in frustration and let his hands flop in his lap, “I’m not-I don’t even care what they have to say about it. I just,” he flushed and went back to picking at his nails, “I just don’t know if the other kids are joking or serious.”

Her lips pursed and her eyebrows knit together, “In what context?”

Will bit the inside of his lip and peaked up at her, “The guys call me pretty boy.”

She nodded at once, “And you don’t know if it’s boys being boys or if they’re interested.”

Will nodded quickly, “Yes, exactly! And I can’t read them without getting harassed with everything else going on with their lives.”

She hummed, “How does it make you feel when they call you pretty?”

Will pressed his hands to his face with a groan, “Ms. Bedeli-a.”

She smirked, “It’s a valid question, Will. Do you feel more of attraction towards the boys at your school?”

Will thought about the pretty blonde that all the guys talked about and then he thought about Hannibal.

“I like them both I guess. Really, what it is, is I have a type. Like, if there was a blonde girl or a red-haired guy, I’d like the girl better. But if there was a taller guy here with, say, light brown kinda blonde hair or the blonde girl, I’d probably pick the guy.”

Will chewed the inside of his cheek, “But then I feel like I’m constantly objectifying the people around me by categorising them into ‘Yeah, I’d Date Them’ or ‘Nah, I Wouldn’t’, when the actuality is no one would want to date me.”

“Why do you think no one would want to date you, Will?”

Will looked at the ceiling, “I’m literally a human disaster. I can barely hold a conversation, let alone start one; I wake up constantly from nightmares; I don’t really like watching T.V., which is a surprisingly big deal; not too mention I’m a barely functioning human being. If I don’t have someone to remind me to eat or fucking bathe, then I won’t do it. Not to mention my already fucked up sleep schedule.”

She gave a sly smile, “Do you want to talk about the nightmares?”

He gave a sarcastic laugh but didn’t verbally agree or decline. She knew by now he wouldn’t talk about when haunted him at night.

She relented easily enough, “Well, Will, I think you’re selling yourself short. You’re very intelligent and humorous-”

Will sat up properly and leaned forward, cutting her off, “Not to kids my age! They don’t get my references, which is 90% of my jokes!”

She raised an eyebrow and he sat back against his seat and looked to the side.

“Will, believe or not, you will find someone who will appreciate you for you. Maybe it won’t be someone in your class or even at your school, maybe it will be your soulmate.”

He grimaced, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bedelia sighed, “I really think we should talk about why you have such an aversion to the idea of your soulmate.”

Will gave her a wry smile and thought about all the times Hannibal killed him and when Nigel called Gabi gorgeous. He looked up at her face ruefully and gave a genuinely apologetic smile, “Time’s up. Maybe next time.”

She sighed. They both knew Will wouldn’t talk about his soulmate to her. Or anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise these will get longer when I catch up to the T.V show (this reincarnation is when season one is, I just have to get there first, if that makes sense)


	9. Panic Attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical professional. In this chapter, there is talk about taking two prescriptions at once. PLEASE DO NOT MIX YOUR MEDICATION WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM A DOCTOR OR MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. 
> 
> Also, everything I write about Zoloft is based on my own experiences with it, and everything from Prazosin is entirely made up by me; I'm not in any way, shape, or form pretending to know what I'm talking about. Don't use what I write about as a basis to decide if you need either of these medications. Just don't.

Will’s appointments with Bedelia were frankly the only thing keeping him sane.

She hadn’t explicitly told him, but he could tell she was older. She looked early thirties, as did most people without their soulmates, but he could tell she’d probably looked that age for over fifty years.

He didn’t think she was as old as him, but Will hadn’t met too many people who were.

“I got a girlfriend.” Will said, looking to the left of her head after five minutes of comfortable silence.

She furrowed her eyes brows and opened her mouth but didn’t say anything.

Will fiddled with his fingers, “Her name is Molly. She’s…nice.”

Will couldn’t hold back a wince at how unconfident he sounded.

“Nice?” Bedelia parroted.

Will sighed and tossed his head back as he thought about how to phrase it. “She is, really. She’s sweet and,” Will bit his lip, “I’ve never dated before. She asked me and I couldn’t say no, because no one’s ever asked me.”

Bedelia leaned back in her chair, looking calmer than a minute ago. “You feel as though she’s the only one who _will_ ask you.”

Will looked down and nodded, “And, it’s not like she’s terrible. She’s just…”

“Not for you?”

Will smiled ruefully and let his eyes wander to the side, “I don’t want her to hate me. She really is great, there’s just no… _feeling,_ I guess.”

“That’s okay, Will. You can’t make yourself have feelings with her and neither can she.”

He hunched his shoulders, “I could try.”

Bedelia tilted her head, “You would string her along, only to break her heart after she’s gotten attached?”

Will huffed, “When you say it like that, I sound like an asshole.”

Bedelia couldn’t hold in a laugh and it made Will smile in return.

“I just,” he exhaled through his nose slowly, “I just want to play pretend. Is that so wrong? Just pretend that she’s mine and I’m hers and we were made for each other. Just pretend-”

- _that he doesn’t exist_.

He chewed his lip but didn’t continue.

“Will, it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

Will didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He was lost in a fantasy of him and Molly being in love and being happy.

When he did speak, he surprised Bedelia. “I had a nightmare last night.”

Bedelia raised her eyebrows. “A nightmare.”

Will gave her a smile that said he was going to tell her something new about him. “I get nightmares a lot. Most nights, in fact.”

She sighed in frustration, “Will, if you’ve been losing sleep-”

Will held his hands up in surrender, “I know, I know, but I’m telling you now.”

He felt her exasperation, but felt fondness as well and hid a smile.

“Me and Molly were older. Adults. We had a kid and some dogs; I don’t know how many. I was _happy_.” He was surprised by the anger in his voice, and quickly stamped down his emotions. “We were at a house, it looked like a mix of,” he cut himself off with a flush. It looked like a mix of his house and Bedelia’s office.

“Uh, never mind.” He coughed, clearing his throat, “Anyways, um, we were at a table. Or I was at a table, she was cooking. There was a kid, young, playing with our dogs. Then, everything got bad. She brought the food to the table, but it was rotten. It was green and blue with white fuzzies on it. She ate it anyways and turned this green colour. Then, she started choking. But she wasn’t choking, she was being choked. There were hands on her throat, big and overlapped where they met in the middle and he-”

Will cut himself off with a gasp.

“He? Did you see who it was, Will?”

Will tried to focus on something other than the fact that his heart was pounding in his ears and out of his chest and he couldn’t _breathe_.

_Hannibal was standing behind Molly, smiling at Will with a calmly demented knowing in his eyes._

_“Come now, Will. You should’ve known she could not have you. Only I can have you. If you had just kept to yourself, this wouldn’t have happened. Why do you insist on dragging them down with you?”_

_“Them?” Will had whispered, and when he looked over, he saw a pile of bodies. His brothers from R-9, the boys who called him pretty, his parents from R-2, his_ family _from his first life._

_Will sobbed and Hannibal cooed at him, “You’re_ pretty _when you cry.”_

Will’s eyes darted up and saw Bedelia kneeling in front of him, with her hands gently squeezing his shoulders.

“Will? You’re having an anxiety attack; can you hear me?”

Will gave a jerky nod.

“Good, okay, we’re going to try something. Name five things you can see.”

Will gasped out a, “What?”

Her tone remained the same; calm and firm, “Name five things you can see.”

“Uh, you.”

_His eyes_.

“The books.”

_Hannibal’s hands squeezing Molly’s neck_.

“Your desk.”

_Hannibal’s cruel smile_.

“The g-ground.”

_Dead family_.

She stared at him with unveiled concern, “What?”

His heart stopped at the realisation he’d spoken out loud. “Y-your necklace.”

She didn’t press him on it and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good, name four things you can feel.”

He took a deep breath, “The chair. The ground. Your hands.”

_His hands_.

Will shuddered, “The-the-I can’t-”

Bedelia took a deep breath in for Will to mirror, “Breathe, Will. Just focus on feeling; what can you feel?”

Will breathed in until his chest hurt and held it in a little longer than he needed to, “The arms of the chair.”

She nodded, “Good, good. What’s three things you can hear?”

_His voice. His voice. His voice. His voice. His voice. His voice. Hisvoice. Hisvoicehisvoicehisvoice_ -

Will closed his eyes, “Your…breathing.”

Will focused on the sounds around him, “The clock. The wind outside.”

He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him, “You’re doing great. Okay, what are two things that you can smell?”

“Your perfume and nail polish remover.”

She nodded, “Good, okay what’s one thing that you can taste?”

Will blew out a breath, “Mint from gum I had before I came here.”

Her lips twitched upwards. “Good, are you here with me now?”

Will hesitated and looked at the ground before nodding. “I’m sorry, I usually don’t spiral like that in front of people.”

She stood up and look down at him with a frown, he had to crane his neck back to look back at her. “Will, you don’t need to apologise for that, it was completely out of your control.”

Will pursed his lips, “I should be used to it by now.”

Bedelia closed her eyes and sighed, “Will, I know you don’t like to, but you have to _talk_ to me. Telling me about Molly is great, and important, but if you aren’t sleeping because of nightmares, or if you have panic attacks like what just happened, you need to tell me. I can help you with them.”

She turned and went back to her desk.

Will scoffed and turned his head to the side.

She went behind her desk and looked at him sharply before going back to rifling through her drawers, “I’m serious Will. I like our talks, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Will rubbed his forehead, “What do you want me to say?! That I dream about my soulmate killing everyone I care about?!”

Bedelia stared at him and when she realised he wasn’t joking her face crumbled into one of pity. “Will-”

“Don’t give me pity. I don’t need it and I don’t want it. Just,” he tried not to let his frustration show and he had the strongest urge to cry. When he looked back at her, he felt the lump in his throat grow and he looked away again. “Don’t look at me like that.”

She sighed quietly and wrote something down before walking back to where Will sat and reaching it out for him to take it.

“What’s this?” He asked quietly.

She didn’t answer for a few moments, “It’s two prescriptions. Prazosin has been shown to reduce nightmare symptoms, I’m not saying it’ll make them go away but it might help. Zoloft will help with anxiety and,” she hesitated, “it can also help with depression.”

Will laughed, “Depression? I don’t have depression.”

She stared at him and Will hated how careful she looked. He could feel her, how she saw him. As if he was _fragile_.

He snarled, “I’m not _depressed_. I’m fine.”

She didn’t verbally agree or disagree, but Will felt her doubt.

He turned his head away from her, “Whatever, can I go then?”

She nodded and he left.

He got his prescription filled that day, and almost didn’t take it.

But when he sat on his bed, dreading to sleep in case Hannibal was haunting his dreams, he didn’t see the harm in taking them. He took one of each.

He laid down with his eyes closed and felt his mind settle for the first time in a while.

The next day, he didn’t get out of bed. He stayed there with his eyes clenched shut, chasing the sleep that always seemed to allude him.

For the rest of the week, he only got out of bed to go to the bathroom or get water for his pills, but by day four, he wasn’t hating his existence so much.

He closed his eyes and went back to a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing about the counting was from a Sanders Sides video :)


	10. Il Mostro di Firenze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gruesome.

Will was eating lunch in the art room with the other freaks and weirdos when a group of three started talking about unsolved cases.

“Okay, but the Scranton Strangler was never solved!” A brunette, _Georgia?,_ all but yelled.

The blonde girl, Esther, looked like she was going to simultaneously scream and pull her hair out, “Yes, it was! Skub was convicted on all counts!”

Georgia slammed her hands on the table they were sitting at, “That trial was bullshit and you know it!”

The art teacher asked them to lower their voices and the two girls apologised.

The third, a guy named Adam, stared at the table, “Regardless of it it’s right or wrong, the case is technically solved.”

Esther threw her hands out as if to say, _See?_

Will rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his lunch.

Georgie rolled her eyes, “Oh, so the Scranton Strangler is solved but Il Mostro di Firenze isn’t?!”

Esther snorted, “The man convicted slit his wrists in prison and died with ‘Innocente’ on his wall. Not to mention the message on his mirror, ‘The monster is out there.’ Why would a guilty man kill himself to get enough blood to leave that message?”

Georgia shrugged, “I don’t know, to get more famous?”

Esther shook her head and leaned forward as if it was a conspiracy, “No way, it’s because he’s innocent. Hell, if I was convicted of what Il Mostro did, I’d kill myself too if it got the real guy caught.”

Will tilted his head to focus more on their conversation.

Adam spoke up quietly, “What did Il Mostro di Firenze do?”

Georgia snorted and muttered, “What _didn’t_ he do? Sick fuck.”

Adam winced at her language and Esther glared at her but answered him anyways in a hushed voice, “He cut a boy open and ripped out his heart. Autopsy reports say the boy was _still alive_ when it happened.”

Will felt his stomach drop and he stood up without realising he’d done so. On R-10, Hannibal had done the exact same to him.

He sat at the girl’s tabled and ignored their stares at him, “What did the boy look like?”

Georgia raised an incredulous eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

Will kept his stare on Esther and felt her confusion and worry about the weird boy people didn’t talk to.

She cleared her throat, “Uh, well, he wasn’t really a boy. He was an adult but he looked so small, it wasn’t until the autopsy that they realised it wasn’t a boy, but by then newspapers had already made their headlines.”

Will felt his shoulders sag. The boy wasn’t him then.

“Well, that’s…good, I guess,” He said awkwardly, regretting not just looking it up later.

“Did he do anything else?” He asked, trying to not seem like some creep who was overly invested in one murder.

Georgia snorted again, “Oh, yea. He started out small and it took a while for _Polizia_ to realised they had a serial killer on their hands.”

Will nodded for her to continue.

“His victims had _pieces_ missing.”

Will’s eyebrows knit together, “What like trophies?”

_Had Hannibal kept trophies of him?_

Esther nodded slightly enthusiastically, “Yeah, you should see the crime scene photos that were leaked, they’re _gruesome_.”

Will nodded distantly as his mind started processing. He had _pure empathy_. Maybe he could find out what the killer’s intentions had been.

“Do you have any?” He asked.

Adam looked between the two.

Georgia pursed her lips, “We’re not _that_ weird. We don’t just _carry around_ photos like that. But, if you wanted to join our Criminology club that meets today after school in the library, we can use the library computers to find them.”

Will found himself mirroring Georgia’s smirk.

These kids were brilliant. They came up with a club that had a viable reason to look up less than appropriate images on school campus.

“I’ll be there.”

After school, he’d met up with Georgia and Esther. “Where’s Adam?”

Esther logged in to the computer and answered without looking at him, “It’s Tuesday. On Tuesday’s and Thursday’s Adam has therapy.”

Will nodded without batting an eye at the information.

Georgia wrinkled her nose and stared at him, “You don’t care that he goes to therapy?”

Esther glanced up as well and Will felt heat rising to his cheeks.

“I go to therapy. Fridays.”

They nodded and that was the end of it.

Esther made a noise as she clicked on a foreign article.

“It’s in Italian, but we’ve read it so many times, we could translate it for you.”

Will didn’t say anything as he and Esther traded seats. Will settled himself in front of the screen and scrolled through the article. He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, “I actually have a basic level grasp on Italian.”

As it were, Will spoke quite a few languages. He was fluent in French, fluent in Spanish, he could read and speak Italian, he spoke Russian, and he knew a bit of German.

Being reincarnated so many times gave him lots of opportunities to learn new languages.

He glanced at the girls on either side of him out of the corners of his eyes, “Um. I’m gonna look at these pictures and I might zone out for a bit.”

That was putting it lightly.

They looked at him weirdly, but didn’t say anything and he breathed out before clicking one of the images to enlarge it.

It was grainy and Will could see the little dots of the computer screen on it, but he tried to focus on the bigger picture.

_He saw himself as the killer. This wasn’t his first time killing. Or using this method._

_He didn’t know the victim, but he was annoyed by them. They were worthless._

_Nothing more than a pig for slaughter._

_His kill was precise. He wanted his victim to live through the experience. This was all intentional._

_This is his design_.

Will’s sucked in a breath as his eyes flew open. He didn’t remember shutting them.

He stood up and nearly knocked his chair over.

The girls looked up at him in alarm.

Will’s chest was heaving, “I-”

He couldn’t get any words out before he was running out of the library.

He usually walked home, but today he the opposite direction.

He nearly stumbled as he reached the edge of a forest, but decided he’d rather be as far away from people as he could get.

A lot of folk in Louisiana were superstitious and believed in all sorts of supernatural creatures, so unless it was hunting season, they stayed out of the woods.

Will listened to the pounding of his heart in his ears and the pounding of his feet on the ground.

He ran straight until his chest burned and his legs felt like they were on fire.

He collapsed against a tree and sat there for more than a few minutes.

“Five things.” He gasped out. His eyes darted around. “Trees. Leaves. Rock. Sticks. Dirt.”

He closed his eyes and tried to stop his body from shaking. “Four things you can feel.”

 _His heart being ripped out again. Ripping out that boy’s heart. Feeling in beat in his hand. Feeling it warm and wet. Pulling it out_.

Will gasped and shot his eyes open, “Four things you can _physically feel_.”

He dug his hands into the ground, “Dirt. Leaves. Wind.”

He tried to feel with everything he could and he wrinkled his nose, “Wet.”

Apparently, the ground was still dewy.

“Three, three, three,” he muttered, trying to remember the third step. “Hear. Three things I can hear.”

He stared at the base of a tree and listened. “Wind. Leaves rustling. Water running.”

He inhaled deeply. “Two things I smell: rain and wet leaves. What can I taste?”

He breathed deeply and focused.

 _Heart. He’s eating them_.

His eyes flew open.

“Oh, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch why Hannibal killed Will?


	11. Now What?

On Friday, Will sat across from Bedelia. He sat upright in the chair, a deviation from the usual sideways slouch.

His elbows were resting on the arms of the chair and his fingers were tapping the edges.

He was chewing his bottom lip and avoiding making eye contact with Bedelia as he thought of a way to bring up what he’d learnt.

“You seem tense, Will. Has something happened?” Bedelia’s voice cut through the silence.

Will’s head jerked up and he briefly made eye contact and got a flash of concern before he looked back down.

“Yes. No. It’s already happened, but I didn’t know about it and I don’t know what to do about it.”

She nodded with his words but her face remained pleasantly blank.

Will sunk further in his chair, “I don’t think I can tell you what I know, but I’d like some advice anyways.”

She lightly pursed her lips but nodded, “I’ll do my best.”

Will breathed out a sigh and hesitantly looked at her face. “If…you found your soulmate…”

Will rubbed his hands down his face. _What the fuck was he going to say? If you found your soulmate and killed them, would you eat their body? If your soulmate killed you, would you forgive them? What if you remembered every life you lived?_

Bedelia gave him time to organise his thoughts and calm down. Will dropped his hands and glanced up at her, “Do you-if you-”

Will broke off with a frustrated sigh.

“Will, it’s okay, just take your time, and I promise to try and answer.”

He nodded and tried to hide a wince, “Do you think this is your first life?”

Her face contorted into confusion. “I’m sorry?”

He bit his lip with a frown, “If you die, but you haven’t met your soulmate, or you die before they die, you’re born again, right?”

Her expression didn’t change but she slowly nodded.

“Do you think that’s happened to you?”

She was quiet for a while before cautiously answering, “I wouldn’t know. When we’re reincarnated, we don’t remember our past lives except bursts of memory in our dreams. Have you been having strange dreams?”

Will choked out a laugh and shook his head, “Not like that.”

His lips trembled and he felt like he could cry.

His thoughts kept straying to the idea that after Hannibal had killed him, he’d _ate_ him.

“Will, are you okay?”

Will looked up at her and had to look at the ceiling so he didn’t actually cry.

“Yea,” his voice was hoarse and it was obvious he was lying.

“Will, do you think you’ve lived before? Do you think something bad happened?”

Will sucked in a harsh breath, “We need to talk about something else.” _Or I’m going to tell you everything._

“Okay, we can do that. How’s Molly?”

Will’s eyebrows furrowed before a weight settled in his stomach, “Oh my god, I don’t know-I haven’t- _fuck_ -I haven’t talked to her in three days!”

Will’s hands travelled up to cover his face, but they found themselves lodged in his hair and pulling. He bent forward. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! You finally get a girlfriend, a normal relationship, and you blow it. Stupid! Stupid Will can’t do anything right_.

Will hadn’t noticed he’d been hitting himself until he felt cold, thin hands close against his wrists and pull his hands away and hold them in his lap.

“Will, you’re not stupid. You’re a smart young man who’s been dealing with a lot, by the looks of things.”

Will stared at her from under his eyelashes before looking to the side.

“I fucked up,” he muttered.

Her lips quirked into a smile, “That’s okay. You’re young, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

He mirrored her smile and felt like things might be okay.

When he was in his room that night, however his thoughts started spiralling.

_Okay, Hannibal has definitely been eating me_.

Will shuddered at the thought and prayed whatever Hannibal was like in this reincarnation that he’d be fucking normal.

But Will wasn’t sure if he could handle that. If Hannibal was actually a decent human being in this life, if he was genuinely nice and good and wanted the best for Will, could Will forget what’d he’d done in the past?

Will has had his heart ripped out by this man, figuratively and literally. Hannibal had: snapped his neck, taken out his organs multiple times, drowned him, gouged his eyes out, cut him until he bled out, stabbed him, slit his throat, removed his limbs, poisoned, and choked.

The poison was really just drug overdose.

Will flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Will wouldn’t feel right staying mad at a man who couldn’t remember what he’d done. Especially if he didn’t technically do it.

But Will would remember. He could feel Hannibal’s hands inside of him, moving around his intestines to find his stomach. He could feel Hannibal’s hand push through the cut on his chest and _pull_ his heart out. He could feel the burn of the knife in his back and the sting of it across his throat.

He could remember gasping for air more than once. With his own hands squeezing his neck to try and stop the warm blood spewing out. With his hands grabbing at the edges of the clawfoot tub as large hands held his shoulders and kept him underwater. With his hands on Hannibal’s, trying to pry them off of his neck.

Will smiled without humour.

Hannibal was the only thing that was consistent in his life.

More than once in the past, if he’d found himself hating his life, he’d think about Hannibal finding him.

_Maybe he’ll find me early._

_Well, this sucks. Better find Hannibal._

_Fuck, Hannibal, where are you when I need you._

_At least Hannibal will take me out soon_.

Will turned on his side and curled into himself.

_Hannibal really fucked me up, didn’t he? I can’t even like Molly because she doesn’t look or act like him. Isn’t that suppose to be a good thing? I shouldn’t want someone to be like him_.

Will sat up. “What if…”

_No, I couldn’t_.

“What if I found him first and…”

_It would never work_.

“If I could just, be ready…”

_I’d have a chance_.

“I could trap him. Right?” Will looked around his room as if someone would answer.

“I could, I could-” Will pursed him his lips with a grimace, and almost dismissed the idea as utterly ridiculous.

His eyes widened and he made eye contact with himself in the floor-length mirror hanging on the back of his door.

“What if I joined the FBI? I could study psychology or something. When I looked at Hannibal’s crime scene photos, I could tell it was him. Maybe I can do that with other ones!”

Will frowned, “I’d have to get people to notice me.”

That thought alone almost made Will give up his plan, but in the end decided it’d be the safest way to get Hannibal’s attention, and be protected.

He resolved that at school on Monday, he would research how to get into the FBI.

If Will had known where that decision would lead him, he probably would’ve gone into hiding or killed himself to avoid it.

Too late now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Will will begin his FBI career.
> 
> I was going to have Will realise Hannibal's motives, but I've decided to post-pone the realisation until he and Hannibal talk about it, so it will probably be revealed in a few chapters. Sorry about that.
> 
> Feel free to guess though!


	12. FBI Open Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title really doesn't have anything to do with the chapter. it just makes me think of those vines

Will finished high school friendless but with good grades. He kept a distant but amicable relationship with Georgia, Esther, and Adam.

He told Bedelia he was moving, but promised he would call her if he needed help or if he just wanted to talk.

He went to Virginia for college and got an associate’s degree for psychology. He went to the FBI academy and enrolled in a few criminology and forensic courses.

He got his chance to become a special agent during a criminology class.

His professor was showing them pictures of a cold case.

The image was of a woman strangled to death and her eyes gouged out.

Will was shaking with annoyance as the kids around him guessed the killer’s motives.

Will would laugh if he wasn’t so frustrated. _No, it wasn’t her fucking boyfriend_.

“No, the boy friend was cleared of all charges. He had a strong alibi and didn’t show the behavioural patterns of who we suspect a killer like this to have.”

Will grimaced but kept his thoughts to himself until the class was dismissed.

The professor was packing his things away when Will approached the desk with his hands fiddling together.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat when the professor didn’t look up. Will swallowed when they made eye-contact and internally winced at the flash of annoyance he got. “Sorry to bother. But you said that was an unsolved case, right?”

Will felt the man’s irritation at the prospect of another freshman trying to solve the case.

“Sorry, again, but the girl did she have a brother?”

The professor furrowed his eyebrows and stopped putting his things away, “Yes, a twenty-six-year-old. He found her.”

Will winced and ducked his head as he wrung his hands together, “I think he did more than just find her.”

The professor straightened out, “Are you implying that he did this?”

Will gave a grim smile, “I would bet a hundred dollars on it.”

The professor leaned back and crossed his arms, “What makes you so sure?”

Will edged closer to the desk, “Do you have actual copies of the crime scene photos?”

The professor shook his head, “No, just digital.”

Will tilted his head to the side and scrunched up his nose, “That’ll work. Can you pull the photos back up?”

With the professor’s permission, Will sat behind the desk with the professor leaning over him.

Will tried to ignore the warm breath against his neck.

“This guy, it was a guy, was angry. Furious, he was…filled with rage but not _at_ the girl. Strangulation is intimate, right? He had to have known her, or she would’ve been a replacement for whoever he couldn’t kill.”

_She had seen too much. Seen too much. He went into her house; he had a key. She wasn’t happy to see him. She put up a fight._

_She wasn’t getting out alive. He knew that. She knew that. She did damage. Her nails scraped through his skin to pry his hands off of her. She bit his hands and kicked his crotch to make him back away._

_He dug his thumbs into her eyes and listened to her scream._

_She went limp and he finished the job with his hands around her throat._

_That was his design_.

“What did she see?” Will murmured to himself.

“What?” The professor asked, dangerously close to Will’s ear.

Will jumped and scooted his chair over so he could put distance between them, “She saw something. He couldn’t let her live with what she saw.”

Will felt his stomach roll as he glanced at the picture of her face positioned in the centre of the frame.

“Did-Did she have a step-mom?”

The professor furrowed his eyebrows, “I don’t know.”

Will’s lips tightened, “Her brother isn’t her real brother. I think she saw him… _with_ his mother.”

The professor curled his lip, “ _With?_ You mean…?”

Will nodded.

It was quiet for a while, then the professor sighed.

“I’ll bring it up with the detectives on this case. If what you say seems probable, they’ll give you a call.”

Will didn’t say anything to that, he just gave a jerky nod and left.

A week later, a man from the FBI knocked on his door at the dorms and showed him other case photos.

Will was able to tell the if killers knew their victims and what they were feeling; why they did it and specifically how.

Two months after working as an unofficial consultant, a white man was waiting for him outside of his psychology class.

“Will Graham?” The man asked, sticking out his hand after Will gave a nod. “I’m Bryan Fuller, special agent and the new head of the Behavioural Science Unit here at the FBI.”

Will nodded more firmly and shook the man’s hand once before letting go. “Do you have another cold case?”

Fuller’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, “You think that’s why I’m here?”

Will gave a soft sigh and dragged his gaze up to the man’s face.

 _He doesn’t know if I’m worth it. He thinks they’re exaggerating. I’m just a kid. Not a cold case. Serial Killer. A lot of victims. Potential for more victims within the next twenty-four hours. He needs them caught fast_.

Will’s lips quirked up and he looked down to hide it, “I think you’re here because there’s a series of murders you just realised were by the same killer. I think you need them locked up.”

Bryan rubbed a hand on his chin, “Alright. Not bad.”

“For a kid?” Will asked, looking up at Jack with knowing in his eyes.

Bryan smirked, “Okay. I’m going to take you to my office and you can look at crime scene photos there and talk to my detectives.

Will had a feeling that it wasn’t a request.

With the list of suspects and photos to go with them, Will was able to pick out the culprit within an hour.

They brought the suspect in within two, under Fuller’s orders, and he confessed within three.

Bryan whistled lowly, “That _was_ impressive. How did you know it was him?”

Will bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to scowl, “I have this…condition. I can put myself in the mindset of anyone I meet, and when I look at crime scene photo’s I can feel what the killer felt.”

Fuller didn’t seem put off with the idea. “You’re young-”

Will scowled.

“-but, would you consider becoming a special agent?”

Will raised an eyebrow, “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

Fuller’s smile widened and his eyes crinkled, but Will felt it wasn’t out of humour or real joy. “I mean sooner than normal.”

“How soon?” Will asked, turned his body to face Fuller completely.

Fuller rubbed his chin with a smirk, “You get a few more cases right and I think you could become a special agent by the end of the year.”

Will turned his head and crossed his arms.

“Would it be a full-time job?”

Fuller’s smile was all teeth.

Will became a special agent within three months of that first meeting. He had solved dozens of murder cases and had been promoted to a homicide detective after a year and a half.

He would lose himself in the darkness of the killers. He could feel their righteous anger and their mindless vengeance.

At night, when he went to his apartment and sat in the middle of his bed alone, awake because of nightmares of victims he’d killed, he worried how far he would go into a killer’s mind.

To be fair, Will hadn’t killed anyone. Not in this life, but when he put himself in the killer’s perspective, he watched himself kill those people and he felt the rush the killers did.

Will slept less because of nightmares. He ate less because he couldn’t stomach the food. He talked to people less because he didn’t _want_ to see what they saw or feel what they felt.

He lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose and bags under his eyes became more pronounced. His cheeks seemed to sink into his face and he avoided looking in the mirrors when he got dressed.

He bought a pair of fake glasses that acted as tinted windows to a car would. He could vaguely see what people were feeling, but it was much easier to ignore and tone down.

Fuller had frequently asked about Will’s health, but Will brushed him off.

If Will wanted to get Hannibal’s attention then he had to be the best youngest homicidal detective in the FBI.

He worked as a detective for almost two year before he was moved to a teaching position after he refused to use his gun on a perp. Fuller tried to tell him it was because Will was becoming unstable.

Will moved out of his apartment and into a house in Wolftrap, Virginia.

He saw an advertisement for adoption at the pound by the academy and figured, _why the hell not_.

He went home with three dogs. An old German Sheppard named Ketchup, a boxer named Bruno, and a bulldog he named Jack.

Ketchup died a month and a half after Will adopted her. He wasn’t surprised by it, she had been old, but he was surprised with how sad it made him.

She hadn’t moved around much. When he came home from work, he’d find her in the same spot as when he left. Sometimes she would plop down in the middle of a hallway, to tired to make it to a couch or Will’s bed.

When he sat on his back porch and watched Bruno and Jack chase each other around, she sat by him and slept.

He buried her in the back yard and took the day off from work.

The next week he found an Irish Wolfhound and brought him home, naming him David.

Every time he found a stray, he took them home. Will took the back roads, making his trips longer but also giving a bigger opportunity to find strays.

He picked up an English Bull Terrier and named her Marry.

His mind was calming down. He still woke up sweating from nightmares, but it had lowered to three times a week.

When he focused on teaching and his dogs, he found himself content with the life he made.

He was grateful they’d taken him out of homicide. His plan to catch Hannibal had been stupid. He’d find him and then what? Turn him in? Do nothing?

Hannibal wouldn’t even be Hannibal at this point. He’d be someone new.

So, Will lived for his dogs and put his efforts into teaching students how to catch killers.

He even made a “friend.”

Her name was Alana Bloom. She was nice, even though she tried to hide the fact that she made a point to never be in a room alone with him.

She gave him his space, but didn’t ignore him.

He knew she was likely psychoanalysing him, but as long as she didn’t say anything, or try to control his life, he didn’t care all that much.

His peaceful life lasted three years.

Then, after Will had let himself relax in comfortable isolation, a Jack Crawford entered his life and fucked it all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack doesn't REALLY fuck it up. He just brings Will back into homicide
> 
> Next chapter: Hannibal comes back! :D
> 
> Also, next chapter will be very similar to episode one of season one, in regards to Jack meeting Will and Hannibal, but Will and Hannibal's meeting will be a little bit different than the show.
> 
> If you like what you read, drop a comment! Tell me if you want to see more of Will's analyzation or of the dogs. If you've got an idea for a murder you wanna read, let me know!
> 
> God that was gruesome. Offer still stands!


	13. Meetings and Not So Pleasant Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's in this chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the first episode for over seven hours to make sure I got the dialogue correct. Holy fuck.
> 
> That's also why this chapter is so long, I added a lot of cannon dialogue and scenes.

Will liked teaching. He liked being around people when he was a good distance away and wasn’t assaulted with their thoughts and feelings.

Will liked putting his efforts into something that let his mind wander without going off the deep end. He liked grading papers and giving tests.

He didn’t like meetings with students, but they were infrequent and most issues could be solved over email.

Will also didn’t like when FBI agents ambushed him after his lectures.

Will had just finished giving a briefing on the Marlow’s case; a wife and husband murdered in their house when Jack Crawford strolled over to him.

Will was packing his things away and felt a deeper remorse for his own professor all those years ago. Will was putting his notebooks into his satchel and looked down to avoid making eye contact with the older man walking towards him.

“Mr. Graham,” the man called out. His voice was deeper than Will’s.

Will put his glasses on as the man continued.

“Special Agent, Jack Crawford. I’m the new head of the Behavioural Science Unit.”

Will looked up at the man and felt a pang of annoyance at recognising him. “We’ve met.” Will answered, reluctantly shaking the bigger hand stretched out towards him.

“Yes. We had a disagreement,” Crawford waggled his finger as he recalled their last meeting. “When we opened up the museum.”

The statement seemed open-ended and almost like a question.

Will looked down to continue putting his papers away, “I _disagreed_ with what you named it.”

Crawford walked around the podium Will stood behind, “The, uh, Evil Minds Research Museum.”

Will felt his annoyance flair and gave a tight smile, “It’s a little hammy, Jack.”

Will moved to the side of his podium and set his bag on it when Crawford grabbed his projector remote and started flashing through crime scene photos.

“I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching post and…I also understand it’s difficult for you to be social.”

Will looked past Crawford’s shoulder and breathed out a sigh, “Well, I’m just talkin’ at them, I’m not listening to them. It’s-It’s not social.”

Will turned his head to the side and his eyes flickered around for something to lock onto. He saw Crawford tilt his head out of the corner of his eye. Crawford’s arm came up slowly and towards Will’s face, “May I?”

Will recoiled instinctively but held himself in place as Crawford grabbed the corner of his glasses and pushed them up higher on the bridge of Will’s nose.

Will finally locked eyes with Crawford for a second before his eyes danced over the other man’s face.

Crawford was desperate. Fuller had been desperate. Will’s lips twitched upward humourlessly as he realised what Crawford was after.

Before Will could say anything, Crawford spoke up, “Where do you fall on the spectrum?”

Will figured he wasn’t talking about sexuality and kept his face blank. “My horse is hitched to a post that is…closer to Asperger’s and autistics than…uh…narcissists and sociopaths.”

Will gave him a self-deprecating smile.

Will had been forced to see a number of therapists after his days as a homicidal detective, and he hated them all. They said he had autism, they said he had Asperger’s, they said he had PTS, they said he was depressed, that he had anxiety, that he had insomnia.

Will didn’t need a shrink to tell him that.

Will yanked at his navy-blue tie before pulling it over his head and fixing his collar when Jack started talking again.

“But you can empathise _with_ narcissists and sociopaths.”

Will stuffed his tie into his bag and started talking before Crawford had finished, “I can empathise with anybody. It’s less to do with personality disorder than an active imagination.”

Jack protested and reached his hand out and put it on Will’s bag, stopping Will from fiddling with his bag. Will gave a quiet sigh and held in his irritation as he looked at Jack’s face again.

“Can I,” the man hesitated, “ _borrow_ your imagination?”

Will pursed his lips.

Jack explained the case while they were walking outside. Will’s bag had two smaller handles so he could hold it more like a brief case than a satchel.

Eight girls had been abducted from eight different locations, all in Minnesota. Will had been keeping up with the news; the eighth girl had been added minutes before Crawford was planning to ask for Will’s help.

The two migrated to the halls of the academy.

Thus far, the girls had been labelled as abducted because there was no evidence of their deaths.

Will shook his head, “The girls weren’t taken from where you think they were taken.”

“Then where were they taken from?”

Will walked in front of Jack to go down a different hallway and tilted his head in slight sarcasm, “I don’t know. Someplace else.”

When they got to Jack’s bullpen, Crawford explained that they were “abducted” on a Friday so they weren’t reported until Monday.

Crawford showed him headshots of the missing girls and a map of Minnesota that was marked with pieces of blue sticky notes to show where the girls went missing, with strings attached to each girl for that specific blue point.

Will took his glasses off after Jack handed him a photo of the most recent missing girl, Elise Niccals, “Yeah, one through seven are dead. Don’t you think,” Will mumbled. He spoke a little louder, “He’s not keeping them around, he,” his words faltered for a moment, “he got himself a new one.”

“So, we focus on Elise Niccals.”

Will looked up at the bulletin board and bit his bottom lip before looking at Jack with wide eyes before switching his gaze back to the board and walking towards it.

“They’re all…very…’Mall of America’.” He put Elise’s picture on the board and pinned it with a thumbtack.

It was obvious. These girls, they were symbolic for someone special. Will told Jack it was similar to a Golden Ticket from Willy Wonka.

Jack told Will he needed him closer, and Will tried to refuse, tried to explain there were other psychologists who could dissect their perp, but Jack was adamant that they wouldn’t do it as well, or as quick.

Which was why Will found himself in Duluth, Minnesota; at the Niccals’s house.

He looked at baby pictures of Elise while Crawford and Elise’s parents watched him. Her dad was trying to convince them, and himself, that Elise had just run away. That she didn’t like the dorms, but she liked trains.

The mom was less in denial, and stated that Elise looked like the other missing girls.

Will turned around to face them and asked about their cat.

When the dad said he hadn’t noticed a difference, Will sucked in his lips and turned to Jack before treading into the living room, with Jack following him.

Will kept his voice quiet and let himself get closer to Jack than he would’ve liked so the parents couldn’t hear him. “He took her from here. She got on a train, she-she came home, she fed the cat. He took her.”

Jack nodded and pulled his phone out, dialling a number and not trying to be quiet when he labelled the Niccals’s house as a crime scene.

When Will asked Mr. Niccals to lead him to Elise’s room, he had to stop Mr. Niccals from rushing to her body.

_She was dead, but the killer had brought her back_. Just from a glance, Will could see the killer had tried to make it as if he’d never been there.

Jack gave him time to evaluate the crime scene of Elise’s room.

Will waited until he couldn’t hear Jack going down the stairs before taking everything in.

_He watched her. Had been watching her. He came in through the window. He climbed over the balcony and stood by her bed. She was asleep._

_He attacked. He kneed her then straddled her and started strangling her. He squeezed as she pulled on his hands._

_She stared into his eyes_ -

“You’re Will Graham!”

Will jolted and blinked several times before he noticed the Asian woman with dark hair walking towards him.

“You’re not suppose to be here,” he choked out.

She continued as if he hadn’t said anything, talking about his articles. She told him about the antler velvet she found in the wounds.

_Used for healing_.

She asked if he was real FBI before asking if he was unstable.

Will felt like his throat was coming up and kept his eyes as far away from her as he could without seeming rude. He needed her to leave. She wasn’t supposed to be here. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t breathe properly. She kept asking questions. She needed to leave.

Jack came in and told the girl she wasn’t supposed to be there, and Will took the opportunity to create distance and went to Elise’s window. He looked out and focused on calming down.

Will looked at Jack and the woman and two other agents that had come in with Jack. Will explained that antler velvet was used to promote healing, and that their killer was trying to undo as much as he could.

Jack asked if this was his golden ticket but Will immediately dismissed the idea. It was an apology.

He got a plane ticket for the ride home and some asprin.

As he was driving home, he saw a dog trotting on the side of the road.

Will pulled up next to the dog and drove by it, “Hello.”

Will parked his car on the side of the road and tried to coax the dog towards him, but gave a heavy sigh when the dog darted past him. Will drove to the nearest convenience store and picked up dog treats and went back to where he saw the dog.

Will waited for the dog to approach him and offered him some of the treats. Eventually, he was able to coax the dog into his back seat and take him home.

Will gave the dog, a boy, a bath on his porch and made sure to be gentle as he scrubbed him down; checking for fleas and wounds.

Will scrubbed the dog with a towel before blow drying him off, making sure to keep the blow drier away from his ears.

When Will was done, he put the dog, Winston, into a metal crate while he went inside to fix himself a glass of whiskey and get the rest of his pack.

Will stood in the middle of his new dog and the old ones and took a sip, “Winston, this is everybody. Everybody, this is Winston.”

A few barked at Winston, but Will hissed at them twice and they quieted down.

Will sat down on a stool by Winston and gave a treat to one of his smallest dogs, Gale, when she put her front paws on his leg to get his attention.

He had a nightmare that night, no surprises from Will.

It was of Elise. She was laying next to him in bed, but then she floated up as if she were being abducted by aliens. As she floated towards the dark abyss that surrounded them, Will’s eyes flew open and he woke up drenched in sweat.

His eyes felt dry and he had to squeeze them shut and rub them as he tried to calm his breathing.

He knew this would happen, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. He’d seen plenty of dead people. Plenty of young girls who’d been brutally murdered, but the remorse haunted him.

_Why did this killer feel bad? That wasn’t psychopathic or sociopathic_.

Will could feel it, when he looked at her body.

The killer was almost consumed with remorse as he put her back where he found her.

Will shuddered out a sigh and ran his hands down his face.

_I should call Bedelia_.

Will shook his head as if saying no to himself. He hadn’t talked to Bedelia in _years_. He wasn’t going to call her now.

He stood up, spared a glance at his dogs, and took his shirt off, letting it flop in a wet heap on the wood floors.

He pulled the blankets off of his bed and left them on the floor as well.

He went to his bathroom and used a wash cloth to wipe down his body. He grabbed two grey bath towels on his way back to bed, he laid one down on his bed as a barrier between him and the sweat there, and used the other as a blanket.

He heard his dogs whine, but after a shushing, they quieted down.

Will curled up and was able to sleep the rest of the night without waking up until morning.

Will was getting frustrated. He’d gone into the FBI for ten minutes and already felt exhausted.

He was there before Crawford, and took the time to examine the victim’s photos.

_Elise was dead within four days of her abduction, there’s no way the other girls are alive. Why did he put her back?_

_He couldn’t use her. Use her for what? Was she not good enough? No, that’s not it. Something was wrong._

_He couldn’t control what it was._

_It wasn’t her fault, if it was her fault, he wouldn’t have apologised, so what went wrong_.

Will stared at the photos for an hour before excusing himself to the bathroom. He ran water in the sing and cupped it in his hands to press it to his face.

He closed his eyes and let himself feel the water until it became thicker and darker in his mind and he dropped his hands with a gasp and leaned back.

Will was wiping his face off with a crappy brown paper towel when he saw Jack storm in with a frown.

“What are you doing in here?” His tone was calm, but Will could feel his anger.

Will dried his hands off and turned around to face Jack, “I enjoy the smell of urinal cake.”

Will had been joking but Jack hopped on without missing a beat, “Me too. We need to talk.”

Another agent came in and unzipped his fly but Jack whirled around pointed at the door, “USE THE LADIES ROOM.”

The agent zipped up his fly and backed away quickly and Will leaned back against the sink, looking down with a quiet sigh.

Jack levelled him with a glare. “Do you _respect_ my judgement, Will?”

Will’s voice was quiet when he answered, “Yes,” with a faint head nod.

Jack hummed but his voice was borderline frantic, “Good. Because we will stand a better chance of catching this guy with you in the saddle.”

Will hated how shaky and weak his voice sounded, “I’m in the saddle. Just, um,” Will furrowed his brows and bit his lip, “confused which direction I’m pointing.”

Jack looked away in frustration before directing his attention back at Will.

Will shook his head, “I don’t know this _kind_ of psychopath. Never read about him, I don’t even know if he’s a psychopath. He’s not insensitive, he’s not shallow.”

Crawford spoke slowly and his hands moved with his words as if it would give them more emphasis, “You-know-something-about-him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said this is an apology. What _is_ he apologizing for?”

Will shook his head and started pacing, unconsciously waving his hands around as he spoke, “He couldn’t _honour_ her. He feels bad!”

“Well, feeling bad defeats the purpose of being a psychopath.”

Will’s head jerked in a semblance of a nod as his voice raised, “Yes, it does!”

Jack’s voice beat Will’s in volume, “THEN WHAT KIND OF _CRAZY_ IS HE?!”

Will leaned back against the sink and looked at Jack’s dark tie when the bigger man stood in front of him. Will took a deep breath, “He couldn’t show her he loved her.” His voice was quiet. “So, he put _her corpse_ back where he killed it. Whatever “crazy” that is.”

Jack argued about him _loving_ the girls because there was no penetration, saliva, or semen and Will wanted to tear his hair out.

“That’s not how he’s _loving_ them! He wouldn’t _disrespect_ them that way! He doesn’t want these girls to suffer-he kills them quickly and-” Will snapped his mouth close and tried not to focus on his his bottom lip trembled. Will’s voice cracked when he continued, “To his thinking…with mercy.”

Will turned away from Crawford to calm himself down from the feeling of rage swelling in him. It wasn’t him who was angry, it was the killer who didn’t want anyone to think he would disrespect those girls like that.

Will heard Jack say something about a “sensitive psychopath.”

Will turned around again and looked down. He warned Jack that the killer was going to strike again soon, and that he knew he was going to be caught.

It wasn’t until he was in the lab with the Asian woman from before and the two other agents that he realised what the killer had been doing.

After Will told them the killer had mounted the girl on antlers like hooks, they said the liver was removed but then put back.

Will’s head tilted back as dread built up inside of him.

“Why would he…cut it out if he’s just gonna sew it back in again?”

Will’s eyes locked on the split of the girl’s torso and he swallowed thickly, “Because there’s something wrong with the meat.”

The three looked at him, then the guy with dark hair stood up straighter, “She has liver cancer.”

Will sucked in his lips and he tried not to shake. His voice was barely a whisper and he almost couldn’t say it, “Yeah. He’s…um…he’s eating them.”

He nodded and gave a sad smile to keep his emotions inside. Figures he’d escaped one cannibal serial killer to be saddled with a new one.

When they told Jack, he said he’d been considering bringing in a psychoanalyst, but now he figured it might be necessary.

Will didn’t say much to that. _Yeah, it probably would be better to get a second opinion_.

He went home and let his dogs pile on his bed when he fell asleep.

His dreams weren’t pleasant, but he slept through the night.

Will woke up late the next day.

Somehow, one of his dogs had knocked his alarm clock off his nightstand and his biggest dog, a Doberman Will had named Nigel, slept on it and muffled its ringing.

Will was like a hurricane through his house in his haste to get dressed. He through on dark blue jeans and a tan button up and stuck his glasses in the side pocket of his shirt.

He fed his dogs and let them out before speeding down to Quantico.

He put his glasses on after he parked and walked quickly to the bullpen.

He took a glance around the room and saw Jack with a tall man, who Will guessed was the psychoanalyst.

The two were looking at the bulletin board and Will nodded at Jack when the man turned around, before Will to a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Tell me then, how many confessions?”

Will’s body froze at the accent.

That fucking accent. _But there was no way, no fucking way, Hannibal would be working for the FBI_.

Will stared at the unknown man’s back and felt his stomach sink. _He looked like Hannibal. And Nigel_.

Jack told the two about leaked details to Tattlecrime, a website run by resident pest, Freddie Lounds.

Will couldn’t help but mutter, “Tasteless.”

The man hummed and turned around, “Do you have a problem with taste?”

_Do you have a problem with taste?_

Those fucking words were on his wrist.

Will glanced at the man and saw Hannibal.

_Oh_ , _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry he was only there for like half a second.  
> Also, I know that Asperger's isn't recognised by psychologists as autism and that it's not a real diagnosis anymore, but for the sake of this fic, we're going pretend that it's valid.


	14. Will Gets Sick

Will’s mind ran at a mile a minute.

_Ok, so this was his soulmate. His soulmate was a fucking psychoanalyst. His soulmate definitely wouldn’t remember murdering Will over a dozen times and he wouldn’t remember being some sort of gangster in Romania_.

_It’s fine. This is fine. Everything is fine_.

Will hadn’t realised he’d been silent for too long until Jack spoke, “Will?”

Will’s head jerked up and he saw Jack stared at him with his head tilted and out of the corner of his eye, Will could see Hannibal was looking at him as well.

Will opened his mouth but closed it. Fuck.

He bit his cheek and reach an arm out towards Jack’s desk and grabbed a pen.

He felt the two men staring at him and tried to calm his heartbeat as he scribbled out on his palm.

He looked at Jack’s tie and held out his hand, palm facing Jack.

“ _Bathroom?”_ Jack read incredulously.

Will didn’t wait for Jack to yell at him or for Hannibal to comment. He bolted out of his chair and ran to the door, keeping his head down as he ran to the men’s bathroom.

_His soulmate was here. His soulmate was a psychoanalyst and was now working for the FBI_.

Will ran into a stall and barely had time to lock it before he was on his knees and retching into the toilet.

Will heaved until his stomach was empty. He felt exhaustion creep into his bones.

His eyelids felt heavy and he felt like his limbs were made of stone. He sat against the stall wall and leaned his head back. The toilet was an automatic flusher, and he closed his eyes at the sound.

He blew out a sigh and considered staying there for the rest of the day, but a voice broke him out of the idea.

“Will? Are you in here?”

_Why couldn’t it have been Jack?_

Will banged his head on the stall as his answer.

“Are you sick?” Hannibal asked.

Just hearing his voice made Will shake and want to throw up stomach acid. It felt like he was boiling from the inside and he wanted to take off his jacket. Instead, he banged his head against the stall harder.

He could hear Hannibal’s shoes against the tile but didn’t bother trying to pinpoint where he was.

He snorted. He didn’t even know his soulmate’s name this time.

“Will? Can you come out?”

Will thought about it. He thought about dragging himself up and out and in front of his soulmate.

He banged his head twice against the stall and closed his eyes at the throbbing.

“I insist we find a different method of communicating,” not-Hannibal said.

Will huffed loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Not fond of talking? Don’t hit your head, just let the silence answer,” Hannibal’s voice spoke out.

Will looked at the floor.

Another set of footsteps stormed in, “What the hell are you two doing in here?!”

Will felt himself smile tiredly, _Jack_.

“Will is sick. I think it would be best if he went home.”

There was silence, but Will could tell Jack was getting angry.

“Is that right? Will, do you want to go home?”

Will was about to bang his head again, but he heard Hannibal’s voice outside the stall he was hiding in. “Please, just knock Will.”

Will heaved a sigh but raised his fist to knock against the stall.

“That means yes,” not-Hannibal murmured.

“This is ridiculous, Will get out here!” Jack yelled.

Will winced and refrained from covering his ears.

Will pushed himself up and stumbled against the stall. He felt himself get angry, but not at Jack. Not even at Hannibal.

At his own stupid body.

Will could feel himself shaking and sweating. He could feel his hair was slightly wet but his hands felt freezing.

He’d taken his glasses off at some point and had put them in his jacket pocket. He got them out with a shaky breath and slid them up the bridge of his nose.

He felt like he’d collapse at any moment but unlocked the stall, nonetheless.

He glanced to the side as he pulled the door open and waited for someone to say something.

In the end, it was Jack. “Christ, Will. You could’ve stayed home.”

Will tried to shake his head, but it was lost in his already trembling form.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead and jerked his head back to see not-Hannibal blankly staring at him.

Hannibal’s hand touched his forehead again, this time slower but just as firm.

Will was able to calm his shaking for less than ten seconds before he was shivering again.

Hannibal turned to Jack, “He has a fever. Did he drive here?”

Will felt irritation at being talked about like he wasn’t there, but felt grateful it wasn’t directed at him so he wouldn’t have to talk.

Jack pursed his lips, “Did you, Will?”

Will glanced up at Jack and flicked his gaze to not-Hannibal before dropping his gaze down to the floor. He nodded.

His arms were holding him up by being braced on the stall, but he could feel them growing tired.

Hesitantly, he put an arm down and rested his weight on one side.

“I don’t think he should be driving. At least until this sickness passes over.”

Will was trying to focus on what was being said, but he was concentrating on not falling over.

What was going on? He’d been fine until he’d realised this was his soulmate. Was he that scared of Hannibal?

“Will?”

Will jerked his head to the side to indicate he was listening.

“Did you hear any of that?” Jack asked, more gently than Will was expecting.

Will slowly shook his head.

“We think it would be best if you went with Dr. Lecter.”

Will felt his stomach sink further. Was Dr. Lecter-

“I have plenty of room in my house. I can care for you until you get better.” Will’s soulmate, Dr. Lecter, spoke.

Will shook his head so fast he got dizzy. He felt his legs buckle, but strong arms held him up by his waist.

_Fucking Dr. Lecter_.

Will hated himself for going lax in the man’s arms. His front was against Dr. Lecter’s and he could feel the man’s breath on his hair.

Jack sighed and shook his head, “Dr. Lecter, are you sure you want to take him? I can take him to a hospital.”

“It’s no trouble, Jack. I’ll take special care of Will.”

Will shuddered and tried to shake his head, but he felt it droop as exhaustion caught up with him.

He hazily saw the scenery around him change from the bathroom to the outside to a fancy car.

He blinked slowly to try and process where he was before exhaustion won out and he was dead to the world.

Distantly, he was panicking. In the depths of his mind, there were flashes of danger, but Will couldn’t be bothered with it.

He’d deal with it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I write a chapter from Hannibal's point of view? Not first person.
> 
> I'm thinking about making a tumblr for my writing, lmk if that's something y'all'd (yea i'm country and fcking what) be interested in.


	15. Hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's POV

When Hannibal was born, it was in Lithuania to an old money couple. His mother wrapped his wrist in a cloth and his words from the world.

When Hannibal was five, he asked why other kids had their words on display. She slapped him across his face and told him to never ask about his words again.

Hannibal pushed his curiosity deep down and focused on his studies. His parents forced him to take English classes, as well as French and Germany, but they were especially strict about English.

He didn’t understand why until he was eleven.

In a fit of rebellious rage, Hannibal locked himself in his room with a kitchen knife and hacked off the bracelet his mother locked on before he could read.

He felt the air rush out of his lungs.

His head pounded with an assault of images, memories.

_Him as a surgeon._

_Him as a killer._

_The rush of holding someone’s life in his hands._

_The pleasure derived from feasting upon them._

_Meeting his soulmate._

_Killing his soulmate._

_Killing his soulmate again._

_And again. And again._

_He was practicing._

_Dying._

_Him being a crime lord in Romania._

_Him with some girl._

_Fucking some girl._

_Him choosing that girl over his soulmate._

_His precious soulmate._

Hannibal squeezed his hands against his hand as if it would stop the pain, and bit his tongue until it bled in order to keep quiet.

_He’d met his soulmate_.

The pain did not dull quickly. By the time it became bearable, the sun was setting and he’d missed lunch and dinner.

Hannibal took laboured breaths and blinked into awareness.

“Will,” he whispered fervently.

Hannibal remembered. He remembered _everything_. He remembered Will remembered everything.

Hannibal felt his heart hurt as if it were being twisted.

He’d done all that to his soulmate, and his soulmate had remembered everything.

Hannibal’s throat constricted. _He didn’t know-he couldn’t have known_ -

_But that didn’t matter did it?_

He’d tortured his soulmate, brushing it off as okay because he wouldn’t remember it, but he _did_.

How could Hannibal not have seen it?

Hannibal made a promise to himself. He would study the human brain and emotions and become what Will wanted.

Maybe he could figure out why he himself remembered now and not as Nigel.

Hannibal’s lip curled in disdain. Will had seemed happy with him as Nigel. Hannibal didn’t know if he could pretend to be Nigel.

He already lucked out with a family that named him _Hannibal_.

Hannibal was able to skip several grades. On his first life and this life, he had an eidetic memory. He didn’t need to repeat primary or secondary school.

He dropped his foreign language classes, and his parents let him when he proved he could speak them fluently.

Hannibal enrolled in a private college and got his psychology degree.

He became a psychiatrist and was content with widening his experience before he ‘met’ dear Will.

Concerning his own memory, Hannibal’s primary theory was that the bullet that struck his head tore through his neurons and receptors that affected his memory. It probably would’ve caused him to remember as Nigel, if he hadn’t died.

What he’d done as Nigel was probably the most damaging.

Not only had _Hannibal_ killed him, as Nigel, he’d chosen a stupid girl over him.

He knew, as Nigel, he’d been extremely loyal, and because of that he’d stuck with that stupid _cunt_ , Gabi.

Hannibal’s lips curled at the vulgarity, but it was the best descriptor of his past wife.

Looking back on her now, Hannibal regretted her. Her eyeline was disgustingly thick. Her hair was died a fiery red and her lips were small. She was beautiful, in a conventional sense. But she could not hold a candle to Will’s beauty.

It couldn’t be denied, Will was a pretty boy.

Fresh-faced and rosy cheeks the first time he’d seen him. The second time, he was just as young but seemed _older._ His baby blue eyes held a darkness in them. His hair was dark and curled against his forehead. His lips were full and pink and would go dark when he bit them.

_Such a beautiful boy_.

Hannibal felt indescribable rage at the thought of choosing that red-haired wench over his precious Will.

Hannibal tracked down Gabi over the course of a year and took pleasure in cutting off her hands and cutting her open and taking out her heart. He snapped Charlie’s neck and left them on the floor like swine.

He knew it wouldn’t absolve him of guilt for what he’d done, but it did give Hannibal a sense of satisfaction that his beloved wouldn’t have to worry about the girl ever again.

Hannibal remembered travelling to the States frequently during his first life. It was often where he met Will.

Hannibal knew Will would be American, his words were in English and though Hannibal knew realistically Will could be English, Hannibal felt it deep in his chest that Will would be somewhere on the east coast.

Hannibal’s parents were killed in an untimely _accident_.

He’d eaten them, of course, and inherited generations of wealth.

Hannibal kept the Lecter Castle and bought an estate in Baltimore, Maryland.

He set up a private psychiatric practice once he moved there and made a high, sustainable income.

His kills there were few, but meticulous. He didn’t stalk his victims like a plebeian murderer, but he did carefully choose his victims.

He killed them with methods he had killed Will, not wanting his foolish practice to go to waste.

When the head of the behavioural science unit stopped by after a session with one of his more tedious patience, Franklyn, it made Hannibal curious.

The man was older. It wasn’t uncommon to see older people, but it was something to be noted. This man had found his soulmate and they were aging together.

Hannibal also quickly noticed this man felt entitled and self-important. He got what he asked for.

He had no doubts that the FBI couldn’t trace him as the Chesapeake Ripper. So, he to vindictive pleasure in making the man wait outside his office while he put away Franklyn’s papers.

Hannibal invited him in and was surprised to be asked to assist with a profile, but not of the killers.

“We have a… _unique_ profiler on our team.” Jack touched things on Hannibal’s desk without asking.

It didn’t bother Hannibal so much as remind him of a curious child at a store, reaching out to feel everything within reach.

Jack looked back up at him and Hannibal met his gaze unwavering. “You think he is,” Hannibal paused for the right word, “compromised?”

Jack chuckled, “I think he is always compromised. He has a _unique_ ability.”

Hannibal noticed the repetition and found himself curious as to what would warrant it.

He said nothing but gave a nod for Jack to continue.

“Will has the ability to see into a killer’s mind and understand them?”

Hannibal felt his heart skip a beat, “Will?” His voice betrayed nothing other than passing curiosity.

He was always hyper-focused when he heard the name “Will.”

Jack grinned, “Will Graham is who you would be profiling. If you accept.”

How could Hannibal say no to the potential of meeting his soulmate?

He was not disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a tumblr! I post previews to fics, au ideas, incorrect quotes and short writings that might become fics. Check it out if you're interested!
> 
> Next chapter: back to Will


	16. Wake Up

Will was awake, but his mind was far away.

He knew he was in a car. He could feel the subtle jerks as it drove and he could feel the glass of the window his head was leaning against.

He could hear the wind muffled as it rushed by and the air-conditioning in the car blow.

He shifted his head to get more comfortable and was content with not thinking.

His mind was calm for once, and he felt like he could stay in this haze forever.

Distantly, he knew he should be more alert, but he hadn’t been sleeping or eating well for quite some time now, and it was coming back to haunt him.

Will let out a soft sigh as lights burst in front of his eyelids where the sun shined on him.

He wasn’t even thinking about the murders.

He’d _never_ not thought about murders.

He felt himself drift, and when he came back to himself the car had stopped and one of the doors had opened.

Will felt someone adjust his head so it was resting on the headrest of the sea and not the window. Although Will missed the coolness of the glass, it was more comfortable and his shoulders slumped.

His door opened and his heard something ‘ _click’_ besides him before a slithering sensation drifted across his middle.

He shivered.

A man’s hand grabbed his right arm and pulled it around the unknown man’s shoulders. A strong arm wedged its way under Will’s legs and hefted him out of the car.

The man grunted and Will let his head rest against what must’ve been the man’s shoulder.

There was some jostling and then he heard the car door shut.

Will felt them move and heard a door shut again.

He must’ve lost time. He didn’t hear the door open.

He was taken up the stairs. He could feel them rising higher.

He was placed on a bed.

Someone took his shoes off and moved him so they could take his jacket off.

His glasses were gently removed and he heard them click against wood, a nightstand probably.

Will breathed in deep and let himself melt into the softness of the bed.

His own bed was firm, this mattress felt like he could sink into it and hide from his problems.

Will gripped the covers and was surprised to find them covering his body.

He should be more worried about losing time like this.

He thought he’d only been on-in-the bed for five minutes, but it could’ve been two hours.

He could’ve fallen asleep; he could’ve simply zoned out.

What should’ve frightened him was that he couldn’t remember.

Instead, he nuzzled into his pillow and curled on his side. He pulled his knees to his chest and let his hand rest by his head while his other crossed around his waist to avoid being slept on.

Will felt warm. A bit uncomfortable, but not enough to try and get out of it.

He woke up again and found himself less disoriented. He opened his eyes and arched his neck to look around the room he was in.

 _A bedroom. Someone’s personal bedroom_.

It didn’t look like it was someone’s bedroom. It looked like a guest’s room. There were no photos up or personal items scattered around but Will could _feel_ that someone lived here.

Will glanced around the room.

_Clean. Organised. This person is meticulous in every aspect of their life. They don’t half-ass anything. The dresser matches the wardrobe and door, they pay attention to detail. The bed-sheets were a lighter colour than the brown patterned duvet. This person knew what matched, they’d likely be fashionable._

Will pushed himself up more and sat on his knees, facing the headboard and wall, but turning his body towards the window on the adjacent wall.

 _White_ _curtains_.

He looked down.

 _Wood floors, lavish carpet_.

Will turned until he was sitting and facing out towards the room as a whole.

_What happened last? He discovered the killer was eating the girls. The thought made his stomach roll but he pressed on. He went home. He drank, probably more than he should’ve but he didn’t feel hungover._

He pressed his fingers to his temples. _Headache, not hungover_.

_He woke up. He went to work. They were bringing in a-_

_Fuck._

Everything rushed back and he gave a silent whimper.

 _Fuck. Hannibal had been there. Hannibal had talked to him. Hannibal followed him to the fucking bathroom while Will was having an emotional turned physical crisis. What happened_?

“ _I’ll take special care of Will.”_

 _FUCK_.

He was at Hannibal’s house. _This was Hannibal’s room_.

He lurched out of bed and felt his knees wobble but pressed on to the door that was on the wall in front of the bed.

Will knew it wouldn’t take him out of the room, but when he opened it he found what he’d hoped for.

He stumbled into the bathroom and fell by the toilet before hurling the lid open and retching into it.

_Fuck, if he threw up every time he thought of Hannibal, he’d have nothing left in him._

He didn’t hear the main door open or the footsteps approach him, but his did hear the accented voice in the doorway.

“Will. I brought you water and this for the nausea.”

Will slowly turned his head to see Hannibal, Dr. Lecter, holding a blue pill and a glass of water.

When Will forced his gaze up to the man’s face, he felt his stomach flip and hurled into the toilet.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, making sure to avoid the sleeve of his flannel. He flushed the toilet and let his hand drop beside him.

He sat against the bathtub, even though it was a clawfoot and was actually more uncomfortable to lean on it than to sit up on his own.

Will wiped at his eyes where tears had started to form and closed his eyes with a shaky breath.

Will swallowed the bad taste in his mouth before opening his eyes and looking at the glass in Dr. Lecter’s hand.

The good doctor stretched it out for Will to take but Will shook his head and pointed at Hannibal.

The man raised an eyebrow in question.

Will pursed his lips and pointed at the cup then at Dr. Lecter’s face. When nothing happened, he pointed at Dr. Lecter again and mimed drinking, then pointed back at the glass.

Dr. Lecter’s eyes crinkled around the edges, “You want me to drink it first?”

Will nodded his head tiredly and looked at Dr. Lecter’s chin.

Dr. Lecter let out a breath but took a deliberate gulp, making sure to drink enough so there was a visible difference.

Will waited a few seconds and reached his hand out and accepted the glass but denied the pill.

Wil drank the water as if he was a man dying of dehydration and heard Dr. Lecter.

“Afraid I’m going to poison you?” The doctor asked lightly.

Will shuddered. _Wouldn’t be the first time_.

Outwardly, he shook his head slowly, but avoided looking at the man.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Hannibal asked. Will could hear the underlying tone in the man’s voice, but without looking in his eyes, Will wouldn’t be able to know what it meant. He did not want to look into Hannibal’s eyes.

He was scared of what would be lurking within.


	17. Mylimas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Hannibal POV! Hannibal is borderline obsessed with Will after the meeting and views him as precious, beloved; something to be coveted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line break indicates the change in POV

Will tried not to cringe when Hannibal helped him stand up and walk him back to bed. Will felt dizzy and leaned on Dr. Lecter for more support than he would’ve preferred.

The man didn’t seem that bothered.

Will would actually bet that the man would rather carry Will completely.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Dr. Lecter asked after settling Will into bed and pulling the covers over Will’s legs.

Will flushed at being treated like a child and tried to ignore the warmth in his stomach at being taken care of. He shrugged and looked at his hands.

Dr. Lecter bent down and angled his head to try and catch Will’s gaze, but Will was nothing if not a master at avoidance.

Dr. Lecter hummed, “Perhaps a pen and paper for communication?”

Will hesitated before nodding, if only for the doctor to leave.

As soon as the man was out of the room, Will was panicking.

 _Did writing count? What if he wrote something and that’s how Hannibal found out? Will knew he couldn’t keep his flannel on forever, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be trapped in Dr. Lecter’s house_.

That made him spiral into a new fit of anxiety.

_He didn’t even have his car, where was his phone, who knew he was here? Who knew where Dr. Lecter lived? Why the fuck had Crawford let some random-ass guy take him?!_

Will tugged at the sleeve over his words and took comfort in the knowledge that the other man hadn’t seen them.

He felt himself relax into the pillows while he took deep breaths to calm down. He’d like to count himself down with Ms. Bedelia’s five senses technique, but he didn’t want Hannibal to see him that weak.

Will heard footsteps down the hall and tried to make himself look like any normal guy would at walking up in a stranger’s house and getting sick in said stranger’s bathroom. And that stranger is your psychotic soulmate who’s literally killed you in the past. Fuck, he was messed up.

Will took a shuddering breath and looked up at Dr. Lecter’s shirt collar when the man walked in with a yellow note pad and an expensive looking pen.

Will reached for them and the man handed them over with a slight smirk.

Will pointedly ignored it and curled his knees to his chest before he began scribbling his most pressing questions.

“ _Where’s my phone and, where are we?”_ He turned it around and held it up for Hannibal to read, but Will didn’t let the man take it from him.

Dr. Lecter’s lips pursed as he read over the word before his face straightened into what could be called professional neutrality. “Your phone died before we arrived so I left it in your jacket pocket. Right now, we are at my house in Baltimore.”

Will couldn’t help the frown that graced his lips, but also felt himself relax. The man gave no indication the written words counted as soul words. Will let out a breath and scribbled, “ _Why?”_

The man’s lips quirked up. “It seemed like the easiest option. You were burning with a fever, Jack was busy with the case, and I have an extensive medical background. I am well equipped to nurse you back to health.”

Will stopped himself from flinching and instead curled inwards on himself. Instead of writing, he settled for mouthing “oh” and couldn’t hide his dejection.

Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed and Will twisted his knees farther away. “Are you feeling any pain or discomfort.”

Hell yeah, but Will couldn’t write that.

“ _My head hurts and stomach. And I’m tired_.” Will stared at what he’d written and shook his head before scribbling the last part to become illegible.

“ _My head hurts and stomach. ~~And I’m tired~~.” _He showed Dr. Lecter.

Hannibal gave a minuscule frown, “I have medicine for that, but I have a feeling you won’t take it.”

Will nodded with a grimace.

Hannibal nodded as if he’d been expecting the answer and Will almost agreed just to wipe the displeasure off the man’s face.

Why should he care about Dr. Lecter’s pleasure? It’s not his fucking responsibility or problem. He shouldn’t be desperate for the slightest hint of affection.

The two sat in silence and Will shifted uncomfortably, desperately wanting to be left alone but also craving the distraction from being locked in a room with no stimulation.

* * *

Hannibal recognised Will the moment he’d laid eyes on him. Will was just as stunning as every time he’d seen him and Hannibal cursed himself for not praising it sooner.

Hannibal could spend hours drawing Will in various forms. Hannibal could easily envision Will as Patroclus, slain in battle disguised as Achilles. Hannibal had to restrain himself from snarling at the thought.

He would not let harm come to Will. Not by a stranger or friend or even himself. Will was precious and meant to be protected. He was meant to be lavished with the finest silk and taste only the finest delicacies.

Though, Hannibal couldn’t deny Will looked absolutely adorable in his little plaid button-up and jeans. Like a proper farm boy who was raised in a church.

Hannibal had no problem with religion, certainly not when his Will was nothing short of an Angel.

Hannibal had been disheartened when Will hid his voice from him, but also felt a swirl of pride in his chest at his Will being so resourceful.

Hannibal knew Will would have PTS from the amount of times Hannibal killed him, but the fact that he was hiding who he was told Hannibal that Will was not actively trying to get himself killed.

Hannibal would not allow his mylimas to die so soon, if at all. If Will left him in life, Hannibal would chase him to the edges of Hell and Heaven to bring his precious boy back.

Hannibal turned his back and feigned interest in the worthless girls they were trying to find. How could anyone pay attention to anything other than the beautiful boy less than ten feet away from him.

Hannibal was a terrific actor, however and easily took on a tone of distant curiosity. “Tell me then, how many confessions?”

He was here to profile his soulmate, but Jack had told him that it would be best if it were under the guise that he was profiling the serial killer.

He heard Jack prattle on about Tattlecrime, an online news source run by local pest, Freddie Lounds.

Hannibal heard a quiet, “Tasteless,” mumbled and felt his heart warm. Though it was not his soul mark, Hannibal knew it was his soulmate’s voice. Hannibal was disappointed Will had not yet addressed him, but knew it would only be a matter of time, and Hannibal found himself eager for Will’s attention.

Hannibal gave a hum and turned around to finally face Will, “Do you have a problem with taste?”

Hannibal took delight in the way Will tensed. He would much prefer that his soulmate was comfortable with him, but this reaction all but confirmed that Will was his soulmate and Hannibal couldn’t feel even a little remorseful at the joy he felt.

He made a mental note of what he’d said it it’s exact wording.

Hannibal watched Will intently as the boy stiffly turned his head to look at Hannibal up and down. Hannibal noticed that Will didn’t meet his eyes and wondered if it had to do with who he was or Will’s empathy disorder or both.

Hannibal felt himself frown minimally at Will’s rapid deterioration.

Hannibal could see Will grow pale and seem to retreat into himself.

Hannibal glanced at Jack to see the black man shrugging his shoulders. _Not a normal behaviour then_.

Jack cleared his throat, but there was no change until the man uttered Will’s name.

Will snapped back to reality and whipped his head to Jack, and Hannibal could see how stressed the man had turned within a few seconds. Will’s eyes were wide and his breathing quickened substantially. Hannibal glanced down and openly frowned at the sight of Will’s trembling hands.

Hannibal watched as Will floundered for something to say and his frowned deepened when Will jerked his arm out and grabbed one of Jack’s pens, much to the older man’s clear displeasure, not that Will could see in his quest to transcribe on his hand.

Will flung his hand up and Hannibal waited for either Jack to read it or Wil to show Hannibal.

“ _Bathroom?”_ Jack said with a tone of enraged disbelief.

Will darted out of the room before Jack could say anything else and Hannibal was impressed by his mylimas’s speed.

He looked from the door do Jack and saw the man staring with his eyes wide and mouth parted in shock.

This was also an abnormal occurrence.

Hannibal didn’t smirk at Jack’s expression purely for the sake of professionalism and the appearance that he was equally befuddled.

“Perhaps, I should talk with him alone. He might be struggling with a connection to the killer and I may be able to assist him through it.”

Jack growled, “If you two aren’t back in three minutes I’m dragging his ass back here myself.”

Hannibal nodded and as soon as his back was to Jack, Hannibal clenched his teeth and struggled to keep his expression blank.

That man would not lay a hand on a single hair of Will’s precious head. Damn Hannibal to hell if he let that worm anywhere near his soulmate.

Hannibal went to the nearest men’s restroom and his eyes narrowed at the sound of retching. Was Will actually sick?

Hannibal felt his stomach clench with worry even though Hannibal knew logically that Will would theoretically be suffering from a mild illness.

Hannibal didn’t want him suffering at all.

He heard the toilet flush and saw Will’s shoes peaking out of the edge and surmised that his boy was sitting against the stall wall.

“Will? Are you in here?” Hannibal asked, as if he had just walked in.

He heard a resounding bang that nearly startled him. Hannibal pursed his lips at the lack of verbal response and deduced that one bang meant yes.

“Are you sick?” Hannibal continued, fishing for something to go on.

There was another bang and Hannibal felt worry creeping in at the realisation that Will was essentially bashing his skull against the stall. Hannibal walked as close to the stall as he could without pressing up against it.

He heard a noise from Will, and after determining it wasn’t a negative noise, felt himself calm down.

“Will? Can you come out?”

Hannibal jolted at two resounding bangs and pressed his hands to the stall door, waiting to peer through the crack but not wanting to violate Will’s privacy.

“I insist we find a different method of communicating,” Hannibal said, barely concealing concern and desperation.

How could he bare the thought of sweet Will hurting himself? To be frank, he couldn’t.

Will huffed and Hannibal allowed a smile to grace his face.

“Not fond of talking?” Hannibal probed. He quickly followed it u with, “Don’t hit your head, just let the silence answer.”

The silence was deafening and Hannibal had just enough time to pull away and lean against the sinks when Jack barrelled in with a snarl.

“What the hell are you two doing in here?!”

Hannibal pursed his lips instead of snarling. How dare this pathetic pig use that tone of voice to his precious, sweet Will?

Hannibal cleared his throat to get Jack’s anger focused on himself instead of sweet Will. “Will is sick. I think it would be best if he went home.”

Jack practically inflated with anger.

“Is that right? Will, do you want to go home?” Jack seethed and spoke as if he were talking to a child and Hannibal wanted nothing more that to snap the man’s neck and cut out his tongue.

Hannibal quickly interjected, “Please, just knock Will.”

Jack looked at him in disbelief and Hannibal shook his head slightly with his hand out to stop Jack from verbalising anything. Jack mouthed ‘ _later’_ and Hannibal nodded easily.

There was a small knock and Hannibal felt proud that Will hadn’t further damaged his precious head.

“That means yes,” Hannibal murmured to Jack.

“This is ridiculous, Will get out here!” Jack yelled, placing his hands on his hips and he began pacing.

There was shuffling and Hannibal saw Will’s feet move before a thump was hear on the door. Hannibal felt inexplicable sorrow at the pain his Will could be in.

There was a minute of silence as Jack and himself stared at the stall and waited for Will to grace them with his presence.

They heard the slide of the lock before the door was pulled open.

Hannibal had to fight his first three reactions.

_He could not show his pleasure at his soulmate opening the door._

_He could not sadness at his soulmate not looking at him._

_He could not show his crippling worry at the pitiful sight before him_.

Precious Will was trembling like a leaf in the wind and was visibly sweating. His cheeks appeared hollow and under his eyes were dark and greying circles. Hannibal was frighteningly worried about how paper-thin sweet Will’s skin looked. Hannibal could see blue veins on the boy’s eyelids.

Hannibal could see he was barely holding himself up and took a moment to feel pride at how strong his Will was.

He could show concern for another human being and settled for that.

Will’s head twitched to the side and Hannibal wanted nothing more than to cradle the boy and whisk him away from everything that wished to harm him.

It was silent aside from the dripping of one of the faucets.

Jack broke the silence, and Hannibal was pleased to note it was a much softer tone that before. “Christ, Will. You could’ve stayed home.”

Hannibal glanced from Jack to Will, but the boy gave no indication that he’d heard.

Jack looked at Hannibal helplessly and Hannibal gave a frown, “He may have a fever.”

Hannibal hid his delight at being able to touch his Will and delicately pressed his hand to Will’s burning forehead. Will flinched as soon as he made contact and Hannibal concealed a frown of hurt and put on one of professional indifference.

Will blinked at him through his eyelashes and Hannibal stared into Will’s beautiful blue eyes as he pressed his hand to Will’s head again. He made sure to take it slow, giving Will plenty of time to avoid it, but was more steady while checking Will’s temperature.

A more accurate method would be for Hannibal to press his lips against Will’s forehead, but he didn’t think it would be well received.

Will’s shaking had ceased for a moment and Hannibal marvelled at the idea that his touch was enough to calm dear Will, but when it started up again, he realised it was Will trying to control his body.

Hannibal reluctantly removed his hand and turned to Jack, “He has a fever. Did he drive here?”

Hannibal could hear Will lightly panting from besides him and tried to focus on Jack.

Jack pursed his lips, “Did you, Will?”

Hannibal watched out of the corner of his eye as Will fell against the side of the stall and rested all of his weight on his side.

Hannibal looked at Jack. “I don’t think he should be driving. At least until this sickness passes over.”

Jack sighed, “He hates hospitals.”

This is too perfect.

“I was a surgeon for many years. I would not mind taking him home with me and bring him back to health.”

Jack looked hesitate and Hannibal felt equally irritated as he was pleased. He was irritated at the resistance, but found himself pleased that Jack wouldn’t let just _anyone_ take precious Will. It put his mind at ease.

Hannibal tilted his head to follow Jack’s face when the man looked down and rubbed his head, “I don’t know. Maybe I should just take him home.”

Hannibal put his hands on the counter behind him and tightened his hands, “Has he anyone to look after him?”

Jack gave a heavy sigh, “No. He has dogs though. Wherever he goes, they’ll be a top priority.”

Hannibal made a mental note of that fact and filed it away for later. The two stood in silence and Hannibal chanced a look at Will and frowned.

Will was staring at the wall, but Hannibal could tell his dear Will wasn’t seeing it. Hannibal very well doubted that Will was present at all.

Hannibal sighed, “We must come to a decision, at this rate he will collapse before we can help him.”

Jack’s face pinched and Hannibal knew immediately he had won. “Okay, as long as you don’t mind taking him.”

Hannibal assured him it was no trouble.

How could his precious, beautiful Will be trouble? He was a blessing and was nothing short of a treasured delight.

“Will?” Jack spoke hesitantly.

Will twitched and Hannibal knew he was present again.

“Did you hear any of that?” Jack asked, more gently than Hannibal had anticipated.

Will slowly shook his head. Jack frowned but continued, “We think it would be best if you went with Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal saw Will’s face drop and interjected before Jack could pick up on it.

“I have plenty of room in my house. I can care for you until you get better.”

Will shook his head quickly and Hannibal stepped closer as he watched his beloved sway dangerously. He was prepared when Will collapsed, and easily held up his mylamis.

Hannibal felt something curl in his chest and settle in pleasure at how Will relaxed marginally in his arms. Hannibal could feel the rabid beating of his beloved’s heart and wished it were under different circumstances.

Jack sighed and Hannibal fought a scowl, “Dr. Lecter, are you sure you want to take him? I can take him to a hospital.”

“It’s no trouble, Jack. I’ll take special care of Will.”

He felt Will shiver before his boy fell further into Hannibal’s arms.

Hannibal took care in getting Will’s belongings and carrying him out to his Bentley. Hannibal had to half-carry Will rather than bare Will’s full weight as he would’ve preferred, but he didn’t want anyone to question them or grow suspicious of Hannibal.

Hannibal watched as Will blinked slowly before his eyes fluttered closed when Hannibal set him on the passenger seat. Hannibal took care in buckling his beloved up and shut Will’s door gently.

Hannibal drove quickly but carefully as his mind raced with thoughts about Will.

_Precious boy, so strong. He is beautiful in pain but he would be divine in pleasure. Hannibal was assaulted with images of Will lounging in Hannibal’s bed. Of Will looked so small in Hannibal’s big bed alone, practically begging for Hannibal to join him._

_He envisioned Will in his clothes and gripped the steering wheel at the surge of possessiveness. Will would appear like an actual boy in Hannibal’s sweaters. Hannibal could envision the neck line exposing Will’s delicate collarbones and the sleeves covering his hands._

Hannibal made a note to get Will into his clothes as soon as possible. Not while Will was in this state, unfortunately. If sweet Will woke up in someone else’s clothes he would spiral into the worst scenario.

Hannibal made it a personal mission to prove his devotion to Will. He would never let harm come to him ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is the-link-dock (idk how to link it, sorry)
> 
> comment what you liked and what you didn't or if something didn't make sense, feel free to call my out on typos, criticism is always accepted when you're polite :)


	18. Round Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a really short chapter
> 
> kind of an update, I will probably be editing what I've written so far because there are a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies, and I want Nigel's part to be bigger than what I made it. This is kind of a filler while I go back and edit, but please be patient and bare with me
> 
> thank you xx

Hannibal was the first to break the silence. Obviously.

“If you are feeling up for it, a warm bath would do you well for relaxation.”

Will couldn’t stop his nose from wrinkling at the thought. Baths were gross. He was soaking in his own sweaty water and felt awkward laying in a tub with nothing to do but sit in his own filth.

Not to mention, the though of having to put on his sweat stained clothes after being “cleaned” sounded like one of the most uncomfortable things Will could do.

He scribbled on his notepad and turned it for Hannibal to see. “ _I don’t like baths and I don’t have spare clothes_.”

Hannibal hummed in thought and tilted his head back slightly. “I have a shower in the guest bedroom, if you’d prefer. I have spare clothes you could borrow as well.”

Will bit the inside of his cheek to stop the warmth in his stomach and the frown threatening to overtake his face.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle being in Hannibal’s clothes. It would feel like his sweet torturer was wrapped around him in a never-ending embrace and would only fade when Will had suffocated from the overwhelming closeness.

“ _Could you just take me home?_ ”

Will showed Hannibal and though the man hadn’t frowned or outwardly shown any displeasure, Will could feel that the good doctor was averse to that plan.

“I certainly could, though it would not be in good conscience to leave a sick man home alone.”

Will pursed his lips, “I wouldn’t be alone.”

“Dogs don’t count, Will.”

Will’s stomach turned to ice. “ _How do you know about my dogs_ ”

_Has Hannibal been stalking him? That couldn’t be possible, that shouldn’t be possible! No one ever remembered, Hannibal didn’t even remember! Or, Nigel didn’t remember, but still! The fact that Hannibal knew about Will’s dogs reminded Will of how intelligent and cunning his soulmate could be._

“Jack told me while we were in Quantico. He offered to take you home, but when he said you would be alone, I couldn’t allow it.”

Will tried to relax but couldn’t quite manage.

“On top of that, I don’t know where you live.”

Will’s heart pounded in his chest.

Holy shit. If he got Hannibal to take him home, his soulmate would know where he lived. Hell fucking no.

“ _So, what, I’m on house arrest in a stranger’s home?_ ”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled in what Will was learning was his way of smiling. “Think of it more as bed rest than house arrest. You don’t have to stay here by any means. If you can make it out the front door without any complications, I will happily take you home.”

Will looked at the bedroom door and looked back at Hannibal’s tie.

“Okay. But you take me to Quantico.”

Hannibal dipped his head in agreement and Will bit his bottom lip as he thought about how to go about this.

On the one hand, he was exhausted from not sleeping well and throwing up. On the other, he really did not want to be here.

Will heaved a dejected sigh. “Later. Right now, I want to sleep.”

“You really should eat first.”

Will almost agreed because he was hungry, but then he remembered who Hannibal was. Or at least had been.

 _It’s not like he could ask, “Do you have any non-human options on the menu?” This Hannibal was probably just being a decent human being with concern for a stranger he’d just met,_ but Will couldn’t shake the uneasiness in his gut.

“ _Not hungry_ ”

Hannibal stood up with a nod and shut the door behind him and Will felt all the tension drain from his body and exhaustion creep into his bones, and Will realised just how _tired_ he was. How tired having his guard up all the time made him feel.

He set the notepad on the nightstand and scooted down until he was curled on his side with his hand under his head.

He was asleep before he could continue his paranoia of Hannibal’s motives and who he was now.


	19. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's not a real chapter, but read it if you want to give opinions that will be incorporated

First off: Sorry this isn't an updated chapter! But i'm working on editing this story to fix a bunch of inconsistencies and plot holes.

Second: as I was reviewing, I noticed that a lot of Hannibal's kills weren't graphic or too detailed. For me, this isn't a problem, but I want to know if you guys want vague or gore-y kills. I can put warnings on each chapter, as well as a notice before the scene and a simplified/summary of what just happened if that's what people want.

Third: Do you guys want me to give Adam his own reincarnated life, or keep him as a background character? (I'm not changing Nigel because I love nigel, sry not sry)

Fourth: would y'all prefer I keep this one up and post a separate story that's been edited, or should I post in the chapter notes when it has been edited?

Right now, I'm adding details and imagery, so this fic will have a couple thousand words added to the length of it. Thank you for your patience and support.


	20. Sorry Kinda

This story is not finished. I will be revising and updating this in Take a Hint (Okay).

I'm keeping this one up because I'm sentimental and if people want to read ahead (though it'll be lower quality imo) then they can come here.

Thank you for your patience and I hope those of you who have stuck around for this fic find the updated one to be just as good, hopefully better!

stay safe

**Author's Note:**

> If there's a trope/life experience you think Will should have, leave it in the comments. I'm always down for ideas for their background as well as things to look forward to.


End file.
